The Night of the Unexpected Visit
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: It started with an unexpected visit from someone out of Artie's past, followed quickly by a kidnapping. The agents soon suspect the crime was perpetrated by someone out of their more recent past - someone very twisted, brilliant, deadly, and diminutive. Heavily revised, especially in the second half of the story, from a previous version posted elsewhere online.
1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

Time Flies.

It was the Romans of old who gave us the phrase originally, in the form of _tempus fugit_.

Much later, it was Groucho Marx who made famous the expansion of the phrase into: _Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana_.

And still more recently, it was my son who used the phrase in the course of a conversation. And my mind seized on it. Time flies. Noun verb. But what if it were adjective noun instead? What if there were flies which would, upon biting someone, alter that person's experience of the passage of time?

And what if there were a villain in the Wild Wild West who might perfect such a creature and seek to use it against a certain set of Secret Service agents…

**The Night of the Unexpected Visit**

**Teaser ~~~~**

Artemus Gordon was sitting at the table in the varnish car catching up on some correspondence when a knock came at the door. He wasn't expecting any visitors and was of a mind to ignore the interruption entirely, until he glanced up and realized that the silhouette on the frosted glass of the door was of a definitely feminine nature.

He dipped the pen into the inkwell anyway, set nib to paper, engaged in a few moments' internal wrestling, then dropped the pen and went to answer the door.

He smiled down at the young woman standing on the Wanderer's rear platform. "May I help you, miss... ma'am?" he corrected himself, realizing that, despite the fact that the young woman was certainly only in her twenties, her attire was that of a widow.

She smiled back up at him - warm, brown, pixyish eyes - wide, generous mouth - thick, dark, curly hair - he knew that face! Somewhere, some _when_, he had seen her before!

"Artemus Gordon, I presume?" she said. Such a rich contralto voice she had! And yet he couldn't place her voice at all.

"Yes," he replied. "Do I know you? Forgive me if that's a bit blunt, but... you seem so familiar."

She chuckled, and it was not a fashionable, cultured, ladylike laugh, but a real chuckle bubbling up out of the depths. And he knew the laugh!

"Well... it was quite a few years ago," she said, "but I've seen you act upon the stage."

"You did? What, were you a babe in arms? I haven't trodden the boards in ages."

"I was five," said she.

Curious that the number itself gave a jog to his memory...

"It was in Chicago," she continued, "and you were King Lear. I had no idea what you were talking about. All I knew was that there was this massive voice rolling over me..."

He fixed her with his eye, having finally realized just who this was. "I had the audience in the palm of my hand, hanging on my every word. I paused; a velvet hush fell over the house as every ear - every _adult _ear - waited for me to bring forth my next line. And into that listening silence piped up this _bratty _little voice, carrying clearly to every corner of the house, saying..." He tossed it to her, and she picked up her cue:

"Mama, why is that big old man yelling so much?"

Artie laughed royally. "Oh, your poor mother! I thought she would die of embarrassment on the spot! Niecie, it's wonderful to see you! Oh, but I suppose I must call you 'Denise' now, hmm? At any rate, come in, come in!" He closed the door behind her, then turned to her and said, "But let me look at you. I hardly knew it was you! The last time I saw you was the summer you turned thirteen. Right?"

She nodded. "Yes, nearly a dozen years ago."

"That long? No wonder I didn't know you, Niecie! Oh, you were quite the little tomboy back then," he added, reminiscing, "running about, not caring if you got dirty, dragging me off to show me, oh, a lark's nest, or a spider's web. Or lying flat on the ground stirring up an ant lion's trap, and not believing a word of it when I told you they grow up to be lacewings…"

"We still have the family reunions, Uncle Artie. Every year."

"I know, Sunshine. Your mother always writes to tell me… By the way, how _is _Camilla?"

"Mother… is as Mother always is," Denise sighed.

He nodded. "That's Camilla! And Vince?"

That evoked a smile. "Oh, Papa's a brick."

Artie smiled and nodded. "And that's Vince! Wait…" A puzzled look passed over his face. "Isn't there someone missing?"

Denise laid a hand on Uncle Artie's arm, leaned in close, and whispered, "She's been behind me this whole time, hiding in my skirts."

"Oh," said Artemus softly. He took a step to the young woman's side, leaned past her shoulder, and glanced down. He was rewarded with a glimpse of enormous brown eyes under a cap of golden curls. "Well, hello, Peanut," he said.

The child stared up at him, then vanished into her mother's skirts again.

"Hmm," said Artemus. He folded his arms, tapping a finger against his nose, glancing round the room in hopes of some inspiration. "Aha!" Taking a sheet from the blank papers on the table, he began folding it first into a square, then all the corners into the center. Next he flipped it over and did the same to the back. Taking up the pen, he deftly decorated the folded square with a comical face, then slipped his fingers into the pockets and began making the puppet's mouth open and close as he threw his voice. "Where's the peanut?" the puppet cried.

Slowly the enormous eyes peeped out from behind Denise's skirts.

"Where's the peanut?" Artie coaxed in puppet voice.

Fascinated, the little girl came more into view. She had the two middle-most fingers of her left hand jammed into her mouth, her pinky finger splayed across her right cheek, thumb and forefinger across the left.

"Ooooo," the puppet sang. "I think I see the peanut!"

There was a wet pop as the child pulled her fingers from her mouth. "I not a peanut," she said.

"You're not?" said Artemus, hunkering down to the child's level and opening his eyes wide. "Why, are you sure?"

She nodded and jammed the fingers back into her mouth.

Artemus brought the puppet up and looked it in the eye. "She says she's not the peanut," he told the puppet.

"Are you certain?" the puppet answered. "I thought sure I saw a peanut."

"Look for yourself," Artie told the puppet. He brought the puppet up to the little girl's face, tilting it this way and that, making it seem to be looking her up and down.

There was the wet pop again. "You funny," she said solemnly.

"Thank you very much," said Artemus.

She pointed at the paper puppet. "Can I have it?" she asked.

"_May _I have it," Denise corrected.

"May I have it?" the child parroted after her mother.

"Well, I don't know," said Artie. Looking the puppet in the face again, he asked it, "What do you think?"

"I suppose she may," said the puppet, "but only if she's the peanut. And if her hands are dry."

"Ah!" said Artemus. "Well then: _are _you the peanut?"

The child meditated on this briefly, then nodded.

"I thought you were!" beamed Artemus. "And are your hands dry?"

She looked at them and shook her head.

"Well, we can remedy that, can't we, Peanut? Let's ask your mother to hold this…" He passed the puppet to Denise, then produced his handkerchief with a flourish and dried off the little hand. Tucking the handkerchief away again and accepting the puppet from Denise, he said, "Here you are, Peanut," and placed it in her hands.

She turned the puppet over and over, making its mouth open and shut, saying, "Gop, gop, gop…"

"Now, Missie, what do you say?" Denise prompted.

She barely glanced up, absorbed in her new toy. "Tank you," she said.

"You're very welcome," said Artemus. "Now, Peanut, do you know who I am?"

She looked up and shook her head.

Picking the child up, Artemus stood to his feet, smiled, gave her a peck on the cheek, and said, "Why, I'm your dear ol' Uncle Artie!"

The child leaned back in his arms to stare at him. "I dinno I had an Unca Oddie," she said.

"Every little girl ought to have an Uncle Artie," he declared. "Right, Niecie?"

She smiled at him fondly. "I've always enjoyed it," she said. "Although," she added, "you do know you're incorrigible. First you turn me into a Niecie, and now you've turned my little girl into a Peanut!"

Artie indicated the sofa, waited for Denise to sit, then seated himself at the opposite end and placed the child between them.

"Niecie is natural for the name Denise, and everyone called you that already. I only discovered the proper way to spell it," he said.

"And Peanut?"

He shrugged. "She looked like a Peanut." While she was playing with the puppet, the child had without thinking popped her fingers back into her mouth. Artie produced his handkerchief and showed it to her. She dragged her fingers back out of her mouth and allowed them be dried again, then went back to playing.

He watched her thoughtfully as he put away the handkerchief. "Missie…" he said pensively.

She looked up at the sound of her name, and he reached out and tapped the tip of her nose.

"It's a pretty name," he said to Denise.

"I thought you would like it," she said.

"I must tell you, Niecie, how honored, and humbled, and frankly astounded I was when I received your mother's letter telling me about your little girl. It took me completely by surprise."

"Well," said Denise, "for some reason, Craig and I just assumed that our firstborn would be a boy. We decided our son would bear his father's name, and then Craig agreed that for a middle name, I could use the name of my favorite uncle: Craig Artemus Sparrow."

"My spelling," he said.

"Yes, your spelling, with a u."

The child's fingers were nearly in her mouth again, and Uncle Artie reached down and took her hand for a moment, giving her fingers an affectionate squeeze.

"And then, of course… came the accident…" Denise's voice faltered.

Uncle Artie reached over and took young widow's hand now. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Sunshine," he said.

"I didn't expect you to come," she replied. "I hadn't seen you since I was a child. And your job, I knew, kept you ranging all over the country. I'm sure by the time Mother's letter ever found you, it was days… weeks… a month perhaps… after the funeral." She squeezed Uncle Artie's hand affectionately. "And you did write a lovely letter back."

The fingers were back in Missie's mouth, and Uncle Artie needed both hands to extract them and wipe them dry again.

"The remaining months passed," Denise continued. "My Craig's firstborn son came into the world and proved, to my astonishment, to be his only daughter instead. Try as I might, I could think of no way to make of Craig a girl's name. But," she added, looking up into her uncle's face, "Artemus-with-a-u becomes very easily Artemis-with-an-i. And so Craig Artemus Sparrow became Artemis Craig Sparrow."

Artemus touched the child's golden curls. "My little namesake," he said.

The child looked up and said something. "Hmm. You're going to have to translate that one for me, Niecie," said Uncle Artie.

"Missie, did you say 'Artemis'?"

The little girl nodded and poked herself in the chest with a chubby thumb. "I Artemis," she said - although it sounded more like "Oddamess."

"Yes, you are," said Uncle Artie. "And so am I."

The child looked up at him, plainly puzzled.

"You are Arte_mis_," he explained, "and I am Arte_mus_."

She stared at him. "No…" she said.

"Yes," he repeated. "You are Arte_mis_, and I am Arte_mus_."

This time she shook her head firmly. "No!" she said.

Hmm. "You are Arte_mis_," he said, "and I am Uncle Artie."

"Yes!" she said happily and went back to her puppet.

"What was that about?" asked Denise.

Uncle Artie's eyes twinkled. "First time in her life that she wasn't the only Artemis in the room, and one of the rare occasions in my life as well. She apparently didn't care for it." He grinned at her, ruffling her hair. "You little rascal - you went and stole my name outright!"

The door opened then and Jim West came in. He took off his hat and was about to remove his jacket as well when he spotted the tableau on the sofa. "Hey, Artie," he said. "I didn't realize you'd have company."

"An unexpected visit, James my boy! Come and meet my niece!"

"Your… niece?"

"Mrs Denise Sparrow - Niecie, I call her. Niecie, this is my partner, James West."

"How do you do," said she.

"How do you do, ma'am," he replied. "Although I don't see how you can have a niece, Artie. Aren't you an only child?"

Artie leaned back against the sofa cushion. "Well, technically, no, she's not my niece. The exact relationship is…" he toted it up "…second cousins, twice removed. Which makes Peanut here thrice removed. But considering the difference in our ages, and the fact that she was already called Niecie - it just seemed natural to become her Uncle Artie." He looked at her fondly. "I've been her Uncle Artie since she was five years old."

"Five years old," West repeated. "Niecie." He looked at her. "You're the King Lear girl."

Artie burst out laughing. "That she is, Jim!"

And Denise inclined her head in a little bow, spreading her skirts with her hands in a sort of mock-curtsey while remaining seated.

"Oh, Niecie! You remember after the performance, you and your mother came backstage to my dressing room."

"Yes, the first time we ever met."

"Talk about a child hiding behind her mother's skirts!"

"Well, when you were on the stage, you were all the way over there; you didn't seem scary at a distance. But up close! You had on all that long white hair and the long white beard and the big white bushy eyebrows. You looked like some great white bear!"

"I remember your face when I started taking off the make-up. The wig and the beard…"

"What truly shocked me was when you pulled off your eyebrows! I wondered what would be next - your ears?"

Artie chuckled.

Denise smiled. "But once the eyebrows were off, you didn't look scary anymore. I could see your eyes then, and I thought, Oh! his eyes look just like Mama's eyes."

"And like yours," said Uncle Artie. "And Peanut's." He winked. "It's those Gordon good looks, you know."

On hearing her new nickname, the little girl looked up and around, showing off those big brown Gordon eyes. Then she yawned hugely, popped her fingers into her mouth, and snuggled up against Uncle Artie's knee.

"Oh, is it that late already? I'd better get Missie home so she can have her nap." Denise rose; Uncle Artie rose as well, scooping up the nodding child and depositing her into her mother's arms.

"It was wonderful seeing you again, Sunshine," he said. "And meeting Peanut." He gave Denise an avuncular peck on the cheek and Peanut a kiss on the curls.

"It's wonderful seeing you again too, Uncle Artie," she responded. Shifting the drowsy little girl to one arm, she gave Artemus a hug with the other, stretching up to return a niecely peck on his cheek.

Turning to Jim, she said, "It was nice meeting you, Mr West. I'm so glad you've been there all this time to take such good care of my uncle."

"Your cousin," he responded.

The look in her eyes was the exact same as the one that Artie was shooting him over Denise's head. And then she smiled at Jim exceedingly sweetly and her lips framed silently the syllables, "My uncle."

She boosted the dozing child into a more comfortable position and moved toward the door. West, being closer, went to hold it for her. She had already reached the door, was standing on the threshold, when she abruptly turned back.

"Oh, Uncle Artie! I nearly forgot the whole purpose for my visit!"

"Oh?"

"Yes, you see… Well, as I said, I'm taking Missie home for her nap. Home is in Georgetown."

Uncle Artie stared at her. "You live in Georgetown? Since when?"

"Since last week. You see, one of Craig's cousins, a Mr Aloysius Morgan, has three daughters but no longer a governess; she's leaving to marry. So the Morgans offered me the position. Today was my first half-day, so I brought Missie and set out to learn if perhaps you were here in Washington today. And you were!"

"You live in Georgetown."

"Yes. Let me give you the address."

Artie went to the table and wrote down what she recited to him. Then, with one more farewell, she carried the child away and was gone.

Artie stared down at the address Denise had given him. "They live in Georgetown, Jim."

"Yes, I believe I heard that somewhere," Jim deadpanned.

A big grin was spreading across Artie's face. "Oh-ho-ho, James my boy, this is marvelous! I barely got to see Niecie while she was growing up, but with them living right here, I'll have the opportunity to see them whenever we're in Washington." He rubbed his hands together. "And I plan to make the most of those opportunities."

"Wait, Artie. Am I remembering right? Is this the family where the father died shortly before the baby was born? And then she named the baby after you?"

"That's right."

"Artie, are you sure you want to do this? That's a lot of responsibility…"

"Responsibility?" echoed Artie. "Who said anything about responsibility?"

Jim paused. "Well then, what _are _you talking about?"

"Well, you see, Jim," said Artie, "when Niecie was little, I used to make Camilla - that's her mother - _furious _because she said I was spoiling her little girl."

"And?" Jim prompted.

"And now," said Artie, "I plan to see just how furious I can make Niecie. Jim, I'm gonna spoil my little Peanut absolutely _rotten!_" He was grinning fit to split his face in two, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And that's your plan," said Jim.

"Well, naturally, James. I mean, that's what an uncle is for!"

James just looked at him, shook his head, slipped off his jacket, and passed through the main room of the varnish car to disappear down the corridor.

Ten seconds later he was back again, looked Artie in the eye, and said just one word:

"Cousin."

…

Artemus compared the address Niecie had given him with the number on the town house. Telling himself, "This must be the place!" he mounted the steps and rang the bell. A servant girl, her eyes curiously red, opened the door for him. "Yes, sir?"

With his typically affable smile, he said, "Good day. I'm looking for Mrs Denise Sparrow, please."

The girl glanced inside, then nodded and stepped aside, gesturing him in. He was no sooner standing in the entrance way with the door closed behind him when a cry of "Uncle Artie!" split the air. A second later a young woman in deep brown slammed into his arms and for a stunned moment he was flung back to the days of her childhood, when she would invariably greet him in exactly this same manner. Except...

Except she had never done so before crying.

"Niecie?" said Artemus. "Sunshine, what's wrong?"

"And you are...?" came an officious voice.

Tearing his attention from his distraught young cousin, Artie looked up to see, of all things, a police detective attended by two officers. Puzzled, he said, "My name is Artemus Gordon."

He saw the officers exchange glances among themselves. "Mrs Sparrow called you her uncle?"

"Well, yes. Older cousin, actually, but she's called me 'Uncle Artie' since she was a tiny girl..." The phrase "tiny girl" triggered something in his head, and Artemus looked around. There he saw the servant girl who had opened the door amidst a cluster of other servants, all of them simply standing around, some wringing their hands, some weeping. Here, closer, was a tall woman with her arms around three girls he'd never seen before, all of whom looked stricken. A little apart from them, between them and the group of officers, stood a well-dressed middle-aged man, looking very much like he'd been recently punched in the stomach.

And here in his own arms was Niecie. But where...

"Where's Peanut? I, I, I mean..." It took him a second to dredge up Niecie's own nickname for her daughter. "Where's Missie?"

There was a general exchange of glances within and between the various groups, but no one answered his question.

Putting a ring of command into his voice, Artemus demanded, "Where is Denise's daughter? Where is Artemis Sparrow?"

The well-dressed man - Artie assumed this was Mr Aloysius Morgan, Niecie's employer - turned to the police detective and said, "You might as well show him the ransom note; after all, it does speak of him by name."


	2. Act 1, Part 1

**Author's Note:  
**Because this story is pretty long, I decided to break up the usual four Acts into smaller sections, four parts per Act. I will also be posting frequently, three times a week.

* * *

**Act One, Part One ~~~~**

Colonel Richmond threw the ransom note down on his desk in frustration. "Gentlemen, I don't like this!" he growled.

"Nor do we, sir," said Jim. "It's just a little too specific."

"The note directs West to deliver the ransom - $20,000! - at midnight at one location, while Gordon is to be at a different location miles away, also at midnight, to pick up the child once the ransom is paid." The colonel shook his head, scowling. "And no guns."

Jim gave a tight smile. "No guns for us, at least," he said dryly.

"And we know what you mean, Colonel," Artie added. "It sounds like a classic divide-and-conquer maneuver." He was pacing the colonel's office like a caged tiger, his face haggard, his hair a mess from him repeatedly running his fingers through it. "The note insists on the pair of us going out separately and alone. And you know there's no guarantee that they - whoever they may be - will keep their word and release Peanut. Unless they have a telegraphic set-up, the ones on my end will have no way of knowing whether Jim has paid the ransom…"

"…which means," said Jim, "that it's very likely they aren't interested in the money at all."

"Yeah," grunted Artie.

"This, Colonel," Jim continued, "smells like a ploy to get each of us alone in a remote location in order to capture us."

"Or worse," put in Artie.

"So you're saying it's a trap," said the colonel.

Artie made an eloquent snort. "Yes sir. And," he added, looking sharply at Jim, "I suppose we're going to do what we usually do when we see a trap, hmm?"

Jim grinned back at him. "Naturally."

The colonel glanced at one, then the other. "Meaning?"

Artie's hand ran through his hair once more. "Aw… it's just that once, just once, I'd like for us to see a trap laid for us, acknowledge that it is in fact a trap, and not then march up to it and stick our feet in and trigger it!"

"What easier way to find out who set the trap for us, Artie?"

Artie made that sound again. "That's what you always say, Jim!"

"And we aren't dead yet."

Artie shot him a look, "Yeah, well, it's the 'yet' part that gets to me."

Clearing his throat, the colonel said, "Mr Morgan has graciously agreed to put up the $20,000 for the ransom. And we should have the money ready for you soon, Jim - marked, of course." Turning, he added, "Ah, Artemus?"

"Yes, Colonel?" There was something odd in Richmond's tone of voice, so much so that Artie broke off his incessant pacing to exchange a glance with Jim.

"Artie," said the colonel, using Gordon's nickname, something he rarely did, "if you would, ah, prefer to be taken off this case, I'll understand."

"Taken off?" Artie echoed. "But why? Because it involves my grand-niece?"

"Cousin," Jim corrected automatically.

Both Artie and the colonel shot him a quelling look.

"You're obviously worried about her, Artemus, considering the fact that you've nearly worn a rut in my office floor."

"But that's not from worry," said Artie. "Now, granted, yes, I am worried about her. But I'd be worried about any two-year-old in the hands of kidnappers. No, what I've been pacing the floor over is trying to figure out who's behind all this."

"And?"

"And I can see two possible motives, Colonel. Either it's someone out for revenge on Jim and me, which explains this being such a personal attack, or else whoever-it-is has a grander scheme in mind and feels the need to have the two of us out of the way first."

"Or could be both," added Jim.

"Yes," said Artie. "It could! At any rate," and he tapped the ransom note on the colonel's desk, "my presence has been specifically requested. And I don't think it would be safe for Peanut for a substitute to be sent in my place."

"If you're sure then…"

"Colonel, I'm sure."

"Very well. But who is it you believe to be behind this?"

Artie glanced at Jim. "Well, there's any number of old acquaintances of ours who might be looking for vengeance, sir. But…"

Jim was nodding. "I know whom I would put at the top of my short list."

Artie winced. "Was that pun deliberate?"

Jim just smiled. "Pun? What pun?'

"Right… You realize how well that remark would have gone over it you'd said it in front of him!"

"In front of whom?" asked Richmond. Almost immediately, the penny dropped. "Loveless!"

"Dr Miguelito Loveless, yes sir."

"One of our dearest old friends."

"You think this is his work, gentlemen?"

"Could be, sir. But could be others," said Artie.

"Count Manzeppi comes to mind."

"As well as a few others who are still at large."

"Not to mention some who aren't at liberty, but have friends who would like them to be."

"True. But if I had to place money on it…"

"Yes, my most likely candidate would definitely be Loveless."

"In which case Jim's probably right that it's both revenge _and _some scheme."

"All right," said the colonel. "What do you gentlemen propose to do then?"

"Well, sir," said Artie, "we've got a few hours before the drop…" He glanced at Jim, who asked, "Has there been any word on the housekeeper, Colonel?"

Richmond shook his head. "The last information we have is that she was still, ah, still the same."

Jim nodded. "I'll go see if I can talk to her yet. Artie?"

"I'll suit up and prowl around, see what sort of news there is out on the street."

"We'll be back here by ten, Colonel, to get ready for the pay-off," said West.

"All right, fine, gentlemen. Good day."

"Good day, Colonel." The pair collected their hats and left the office, only to find a familiar figure sitting outside it in the anteroom.

"Niecie! What are you doing here?"

"Hullo, Uncle Artie." She sounded exhausted. "I, uh, I thought if there was any news about, about Missie… Well, I thought I'd hear of it more quickly here than at the Morgans'. Besides," she added, "everyone there was being so sweet and solicitous, I was beginning to think I might scream."

Artie took her hand in his own and patted it. "Everything's going to be all right, Sunshine," he promised.

"But that's what I'm talking about, Uncle Artie. Everyone keeps telling me that, assuring me of that. But nobody _knows_."

"We'll pay the ransom tonight just as the note says, and we'll get her back."

"Will we?" Denise's eyes, red and steely, bored into her uncle's. "Mr Morgan agreed to pay the $20,000. But how do we know they won't hold onto her and demand another $20,000? Or $50,000? And…" Now her eyes dropped, "and how do we know that they haven't already…" She closed her eyes, sternly fighting to hold back the threatening tears.

Artie sat down by her, slipped an arm around her shoulders, and kissed her on the head as he pressed his handkerchief into her hand. "Don't you worry, sweetie. We'll do everything we can to get Peanut home to you safe and sound."

"I, I know you will, Uncle Artie. And you too, Mr West…"

"It's Jim," he put in.

"…but what if your best isn't good enough?"

"Shhh," said Artie. "Don't think that way. It'll only drive you nuts." Forcing a twinkle into his eye, he reached over and tapped the tip of her nose. "Have I ever let you down, Sunshine?"

She returned a crooked smile. "Well… you always have been my knight in shining armor…"

"And there you go then." Gesturing at his partner, he beamed, "Jim and Artie to the rescue!"

She gave a hiccup of a laugh, glancing up bashfully at her uncle's best friend.

"Denise," said Jim, "is there anything more that you can tell us about what happened?"

She shook her head. "Only what I already told the police and then Uncle Artie. It was mid-morning; we were in the classroom. Missie had been in the corner quietly playing with her toys while I taught the Morgan girls. Then Missie came to me complaining that she was hungry, so I rang for a servant to come and take her down to the kitchen to get her a little snack."

"And it was the housekeeper who answered the bell."

"Yes, Mrs Beecham." She shook her head and added, "Oh, poor Mrs Beecham!"

"Did the housekeeper seem odd in any way this morning? Anything unusual in her words or actions?"

"No… she was a bit gruff. But that's perfectly normal for Mrs Beecham."

"So she took the child away to get a snack." Denise nodded. "Then what happened?" Jim continued.

"Well… _nothing _happened. I continued the lessons and only realized about, say, half an hour later that Missie hadn't returned. So I rang for a servant again, and this time one of the maids came - Rhoda. I explained about the snack and asked her to see what was keeping Missie…"

"And she was the one who found the housekeeper then?"

Denise shook her head. "No, that was Cook. But Rhoda walked in on the ruckus in the kitchen, then came and fetched me. On the kitchen table was the ransom note. And… well… I don't know how to describe what had happened to Mrs Beecham. She…" Denise paused, mouth open as if to say more, then gave up and spread her hands.

Jim glanced toward Artie, who shook his own head. "Sorry, Jim. They'd already taken Mrs Beecham off to the hospital by the time I arrived."

Jim turned his attention back to Denise. "Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Well, we read the note, of course, then searched the house and yard for Missie anyway. Someone - I suppose it was Mrs Morgan - summoned the police. I assume she also sent someone down to the office to fetch Mr Morgan, because suddenly he was there." She paused and turned to her cousin. "And then you showed up, Uncle Artie. I don't understand that. How did you know to come?"

"I didn't. I simply had a free afternoon and decided to swing by and visit you and Peanut."

Tears were threatening again. "She's never been away from me, never in her whole life. I can't imagine how frightened she must be!"

"If she's anything like her mother," said James, "I'm sure she's being a very brave little girl."

Denise shot him a look. "Well, that was a none too subtle hint telling me to be brave, wasn't it?"

"It worked. You're smiling now."

Denise gave a snort. But it was true; he had made her smile - a tight and sardonic smile to be sure, but a smile nonetheless.

"Well," said Uncle Artie, coming to his feet, "Jim and I are going to go do some more investigating. Why don't you head on back home?"

"I'd rather stay here."

"Are you sure? I would think you'd be more comfortable at home…" He caught the look in her eye and gave up. "All right then." He gave her another kiss on the top of her head. "Try not to worry, sweetheart."

She gave a little laugh. "Oh, because Gordons _never _worry…"

Jim glanced at his partner, amusement in his eye. "Artie, I believe she's got you pegged."

"All right," Artie amended. "Try not to worry - too much!"

"I'll try," she promised. "Oh! Your handkerchief!" She held out the cloth, but her uncle shook his head. "Just keep it."

"Oh but…" She looked at it. "It's not completely sodden."

He grinned in reminiscence. "And you didn't soak my shirt front with your tears."

"Well, sit back down here and give me a little more time!" she rejoined.

He reached out a hand and ruffled her hair. "That's my girl!" Then, seriously, he added, "If we have to move heaven and earth, Niecie, we will bring Peanut back home to you."

Tears brimming her eyes again, she answered, "Thank you, Uncle Artie. And I love you too."

He smiled somberly, gave her another tap on her nose, then turned to Jim, who made a "Let's go" gesture.

Once they were out of earshot, Jim queried softly, "I love you too?"

"Very old running joke between us. Look, you go on, Jim. I want to say a word to the colonel's secretary."

"All right, Artie. Meet you back here at ten."

As Jim headed out to check on the housekeeper, Artie spoke to young Keeley, asking him to keep an eye on Denise Sparrow and get her anything she might need. Satisfied, Artie spared one more glance at his cousin, then headed off to the Wanderer to get dressed for the afternoon's work.


	3. Act 1, Part 2

**Act One, Part Two ~~~~**

"You're very prompt, Mr West," said Dr Feldstrom as he led the way down the hospital corridor. "Mrs Beecham returned to normal perhaps a quarter-hour ago, and we had only just sent off a message to Colonel Richmond to inform him of the fact as per his instructions."

"I was already on the way," said West. "Tell me, Doctor, what precisely was wrong with Mrs Beecham?"

"Ah, a most curious case, Mr West! I shall be writing it up for the medical journals! She presented with what initially resembled the slurred speech of intoxication, but in fact, Mr West," the doctor's eyes sparkled with interest, "Mrs Beecham was not drunk. Oh no! For it was not a matter of her speech alone being slow. Her entire system - pulse, respiration, reflexes, movements - _all _were retarded to a rate of one-third normal!" At this point the doctor gestured to a door to the right, saying, "Ah, here we are."

Dr Feldstrom ushered West into the room and dismissed the nurse, who gave the handsome agent an attentive glance as she slipped out the door. West smiled back at the pretty young nurse, then turned to the woman in the bed.

The housekeeper was middle-aged, with a face like a bulldog and narrow, skeptical eyes. West saw instantly that Denise Sparrow's characterization of the woman as normally gruff was right on the money. "Who are you?" Mrs Beecham demanded, her eyes glaring, but not looking toward West.

"Now, now, Mrs Beechan," said the doctor, "I was here earlier, remember? I'm Dr Feldstrom. And this is James West. He is a Federal agent."

"How do you do, Mrs Beecham," said West. "I need to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Artemis Sparrow."

"Where is Missie?" the woman growled.

"We don't know yet, ma'am. I was hoping you could help us."

"Help you? How am I supposed to help anyone? That doctor there has got me stuck in this bed!"

"Now, now, it's only for a few more hours, Mrs Beecham. Just until we're absolutely sure that you are fine."

"And you can help us, ma'am," said West, "by describing what happened this morning. Now, Mrs Sparrow said that she rang for someone to take Missie to the kitchen for a snack."

"Rang _twice_," the woman grumbled. "Can't get competent help these days. These young girls coming up, you can't get it through their heads that when the bell rings, that means _now!_" Still glowering, she said, "Yes, I took the child down to the kitchen since no one else could be bothered to do it!"

"And what happened then, Mrs Beecham?"

"There was no one in the kitchen either. Pots bubbling on the hob, but no sign of Cook or her helper. Gone to fetch something from the storeroom, I supposed. Well, Missie saw some fruit in the hanging baskets and cried out that she wanted an apple. I crossed the room to get one for her. That's when I heard the door open."

"Which door?"

"Outside. I never heard a door open and close so fast in all my days! The next thing I knew, Missie gave a shriek so I turned around." A hard angry look settled on her face. "There was a stranger in the room, holding Missie!"

"What did the stranger look like?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't tell you, Mr West, except that it was a beekeeper."

"A beekeeper?" West echoed.

"Yes sir. You know what I mean. Coveralls, boots, gloves, and a big broad-brimmed hat with a thick veil hanging down all around."

"Was this a man or a woman?"

"Why, a man of course!" she said, scandalized. "No decent woman would go about in, in _breeches _like that!"

"I see," said Jim. "And do the Morgans have a beekeeper, Mrs Beecham?"

"Oh no sir, of course not!"

"No beekeeper," West repeated, "All right, please go on, Mrs Beecham."

"Well, as I said, the stranger was holding Missie, and the poor child was

struggling. Suddenly there came this buzzing sound and Missie yelped. Immediately after that, she started acting… well, strange…"

"Strange?" Jim prompted.

"Mr West, the child called out to me and it sounded like this: Mmmrrrsss Bbbeeeeeeccchhhaaammm!"

At that, Dr Feldstrom's head snapped up with keen interest.

Fury was shining from the woman's face. "Now, the stranger was completely the opposite, moving very fast and jerky. He dropped an envelope on the table, then turned and bolted out the door, taking Missie with him. My, but he dashed out that door! I ran after him, ordering him to let her go. He turned back and I heard a buzzing sound again. And then I yelped. Whatever was buzzing bit me!" She held out her hand, displaying a red welt on her knuckles.

"I, I can't explain what happened next, Mr West," she went on. "The stranger started moving faster than ever, faster than I could believe someone could move. He pushed me back into the kitchen, shoved me into a chair, then zipped out the door and away like greased lightning!

"Cook came back in then and spoke to me, but she sounded like a squirrel chattering away. I spoke to her as well, but she stared at me like I wasn't making a lick of sense. She went bustling about, moving faster than I'd ever seen her move before, and next thing I knew, she'd gone and fetched Mrs Morgan. Before I could catch my breath, more people were pouring into the kitchen, and then the police as well! Finally someone bundled me off to this hospital and turned me over to that quack over there!"

Dr Feldstrom began to protest, but subsided at a glance from West. Turning to the woman once more, Jim asked, "Is there anything more you can tell me? Anything more about the stranger?"

She gave it some thought, then shook her head.

"So there was nothing unusual about his height? Neither extremely tall nor extremely short?"

"No sir. Just extremely fast."

"I see. Well, thank you very much, Mrs Beecham. You've been a tremendous help. I'll let you get your rest now." He nodded farewell to her, then to the doctor as well. "Dr Feldstrom."

West walked off down the hospital corridor, ignoring the growing row between the doctor and the housekeeper in the room he had left behind. Speed, he thought. Mrs Beecham thought everyone was moving very fast, yet according to Feldstrom, it was she who had been moving very slowly. Also the stranger she described wasn't extremely tall, and therefore not Voltaire. But did that mean the mastermind was not Loveless? Hmm…


	4. Act 1, Part 3

**Act One, Part Three ~~~~**

It was a quarter of ten - right on time - when West arrived back at the office building for his appointment with Colonel Richmond. Seeing an old gray-bearded man shambling up to the door just ahead of him, Jim called out, "Let me get that for you."

The hunch-shouldered old man turned and squinted up at him, his head thrust forward like a turtle's. "Well, thank y', shonny. That'sh mighty shivil of y'," the old fellow said, whistling his s's.

"It's a bit late in the day," said Jim, holding the door for the old timer. "The office you want may be closed."

"Eh, thish one won't be, shonny," said the old graybeard as he passed through the doorway. "Colonel Rishmond'sh exshpectin' me. Same as he is you, James." And as he said the final sentence, his stoop of age melted off him, revealing…

"Artie."

Artie's brown eyes twinkled at Jim from under the thick fake eyebrows. "Fooled you again, partner," he said in delight. Artie peeled off the disguise as they walked along the corridor and up the stairs.

"What did you learn?" asked Jim.

"Not a blessed thing." At Jim's disbelieving look, Artie added, "Nobody knows anything about it. There's speculation, sure, but nothing that leads anywhere. Whoever our unknown mastermind is, he's playing this one very close to the vest."

Jim frowned. "Hmm…"

"What about the housekeeper?"

Jim summarized her account for his partner. "Beekeeper?" said Artie. "And a buzzing sound… Curious."

They entered the anteroom. Denise was curled up on a bench sound asleep, one blanket spread over her and a second rolled up under her head for a pillow. "Poor kid," Artie murmured as he and Jim passed through that room and into the office where Colonel Richmond was waiting for them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said the colonel. He then listened attentively as first West and then Gordon reported on their investigations. "Well?" he said when they were done, "what do you make of it all?"

Jim shook his head. "It still could be anyone, Colonel."

"The fact that the stranger who took the child was plainly not Voltaire seems to strike Dr Loveless off the list."

"Not necessarily, sir," said Artie. While they had been talking, he had been shedding his disguise, pulling off his shabby, baggy old shirt and pants to disclose his more usual clothes beneath. He was now turning his disreputable coat inside-out, revealing a fine-looking tan jacket in its place. "Loveless often has a number of henchmen. He could have easily sent someone we've never run into before. If only…" He paused suddenly, right in the middle of putting on the jacket and brought his forefinger up to tap at his nose, then pointed the finger at nothing in particular, wagging it a bit, the tip of his tongue just barely visible at the corner of his mouth. "I bet you…" he said. Then, with a chuckle, he added, "Be right back," as he shrugged his jacket the rest of the way on and went out into the anteroom.

Jim and the colonel followed as Artie first went to the secretary and asked for something. After a few moments of rummaging in a file cabinet, the secretary returned and handed the something over to Artie, earning a nod of "Thanks." Next Artie crossed to the bench where Denise was sleeping, drew up a chair and sat down near her, then patted her shoulder. "Niecie," he called gently. "Sunshine, I need you to wake up."

"Mmm… huh…?" She blinked heavily and focused on him. "Uncle Artie?"

"Sorry to wake you, sweetie, but I need you to look at something for me. Are you awake?"

Slowly she sat up, looking around her, piecing together her memories of where she was and why. "Missie!" she exclaimed. "Is she back?"

"Not yet, Sunshine. Now look. I want you to look at these photographs…" and he spread three photos before her, "…and tell me if you've seen any of these people before."

She was already shaking her head. "Uncle Artie, I was in the classroom. I didn't see anything of what happened today."

"But I'm not talking about today," he responded, his eyes intense. "I want you to think about earlier this week. The day that you brought Peanut to the train to meet me. And any day between then and now. Whether at the railroad yard, or on the way home afterwards. Or perhaps outside the townhouse since then. Do any of these people look familiar?"

She looked, then frowned and shook her head. "Oh, I'm sure if I had ever seen either of these men before, I'd remember."

"Yes, especially as this one's a dwarf and that one a giant."

Her eyes popped wide. "A dwarf and a giant! Oh, Uncle Artie, I would definitely remember someone like that! No, I haven't seen them."

"What about the woman?" he prompted.

Denise picked up the photo, studying the pretty brunette it depicted. "Well, she's not as striking as the other two…" She frowned, her forefinger tapping at her nose, the tip of her tongue peeking out at the corner of her mouth. Suddenly she jerked up straight, eyes wide again. "There was a woman… Mrs Beecham spoke to her. She was… she was collecting clothing for some charity. Cast-off clothing for little children. Mrs Beecham fetched me, since Missie's the only small child in the household. I had to apologize to the woman; we've only just moved here, so Missie hasn't anything she's outgrown yet. That woman… yes! Yes, she could be the same as this one in the photograph."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure? No. But there's every possibility she could be the same woman."

Artie smiled at her and gave her a pat on the cheek. "Thanks, sweetie." He added a kiss on her forehead as he rose to his feet, only to find Jim and the colonel standing directly behind him when he turned.

Jim took the photo. "So she may have seen Antoinette."

"Possibly, yes. If…" Artie fell silent, waiting until the three of them were back in the colonel's office and out of Denise's earshot before finishing with, "If it _is _Loveless and his winsome crew, we'll need to be on our toes."

"Do you think he would have harmed the child?" asked Richmond.

Jim shook his head. "It's hard to say, sir. On the one hand…"

"…there was at least one scheme Loveless had," Artie took up his partner's thought, "claiming he was going to create a kingdom for children where they could live in safety. And yet…"

"…and yet," Jim picked it back up now, "there was another scheme in which Loveless specifically said he was going to kill, quote, every man, woman and child in America. End quote."

"The man's unstable," said the colonel.

"Unstable as water," Artie nodded.

Jim glanced at the clock. "We need to get into position."

"Right," the colonel agreed. Gesturing to a briefcase, he said, "Here is the ransom money. There's a small opening at the bottom of the case," he demonstrated, "which when open will leave a trail of… You're smiling."

Jim caught the twinkle in Artie's eyes. "We've done this sort of thing before, yes."

"Ah," said Richmond. "Yes, I suppose you have. Well," he extended his hand and gave each agent a handshake of farewell. "Good luck to you."

"Thank you, sir." Jim took the case, and Artie a walking stick. As they passed through the anteroom, they saw the secretary Keeley sitting beside Denise, deep in conversation. The young widow broke off to watch her uncle and his partner walk through the room. Artie smiled encouragingly toward her; her replying smile was wan indeed.

And then the two men were gone. Colonel Richmond came out of his office to return the three photos to be filed once more. He paused for a moment, studying the three faces, then tossed the photos onto the desk, the one of Antoinette landing on top.

…

She didn't know which was worse, the crying of the child or the whining of her beloved. "Noise!" he kept growling. "Noise, noise, _noise!_ I hate noise! I hate it!" He was pacing back and forth in his peculiar rolling gait, his long-fingered hands jammed over his ears. "Can't you do anything to put an end to that _noise?_"

She had endured in silence as long as she was able. Now she snapped at him. "And what do you expect me to do? She wants her mother. I'm not her mother!"

"Well, do… oh… something! Sing her a lullaby!"

Lullaby! She scowled. This was not a tired child fighting sleep; this was a frightened and, yes, an angry child! Still… perhaps a lullaby would soothe all their jangled nerves. At least it couldn't hurt.

She crossed the room to her harpsichord, sat down, and began to play. Her beloved came and stood by her. Together they lifted their voices in charming harmony, singing:

_Rock a bye, baby,  
On the tree top.  
When the wind blows,  
The cradle will rock.  
When the bough breaks,  
The cradle will fall  
And down will come Baby,  
Cradle and all!_

They sang it through twice, and the crying ceased. Overjoyed, they looked at each other, then at the child.

She was regarding the pair of them over the top of her fingers which were firmly plugged in her mouth. With her huge brown eyes under golden curls, she would have been a delightful-looking moppet if it weren't for the expression in her eyes. These were not sleepy eyes, nor were they soothed eyes. No, they were still very angry eyes indeed.

And then she pulled her fingers out of her mouth. "Mamma never sing me dat song," she declared. "Mamma sez datsa nasty song. Mamma sez how you gonna fall asleep wif someone singin' 'bout how you gonna fall outta tree!" And now that her rebuttal was done, her face screwed up into misery again as she whined, "I wan' my Mamma!" And the howling started afresh.

Blue eyes glittering, the man wheeled and strode over to the playpen - and never had such an enclosure looked more like a prison cell - in which the little girl now lay drumming her heels on the floor. He stopped dead in front of her, shot her a vicious glare, then snarled, "Shut _up!_" distinctly sounding each of the consonantal stops.

Eyes wide, the child suddenly broke off crying and sat up, sticking her fingers into her mouth again. She stared at him, then popped the fingers out - a fleck of her spittle flew out and caught him in the eye - and said, "You mean."

"You're noisy."

"I wan' my Mamma."

"You can't have her."

"You mean!"

Closing his eyes, he said with a smirk, "I excel at that."

"I wan' my Mamma," the child said sulkily. "I wanna go home!"

"No to both," he said, showing his teeth.

She stuck her fingers back into her mouth.

Satisfied, he turned away.

The howling commenced once more.

He slammed his hands over his ears again, stamping his feet. "Make it stop!" he demanded. "Make it stop!"

The woman closed her eyes to search for strength, then opened them again and said, "Isn't it nearly time for the ransom to be paid?"

"If it isn't, it's close enough!" he snapped. Storming from the room, he went out and commanded his minions, "Go and spring the traps!"


	5. Act 1, Part 4

**Act One, Part Four ~~~~**

The Washington Monument. The cornerstone had been laid in 1848, but between the machinations of the Know-Nothing Party and the intervention of the War, for well over a decade now it had been left unfinished. No durable work had been added to it for a long time now. There it stood, a truncated white marble stump some 150 feet high, abandoned and alone.

James West stood well off from the monument, waiting under the cold stars. He was in an exposed position, he knew; a marksman with a rifle could have easily picked him off. He was fairly certain, however, that Artie's conclusions about who might be behind this were sound. Whoever their adversary was, whether a Dr Loveless or a Count Manzeppi, this was the work of a clever man. And the clever men they had faced in the past liked to be seen to be clever, to brag about their cleverness. Not for them the anonymity of a sniper's bullet. No, this enemy, Jim was sure, would want to look him and Artie in the eye and gloat over them as he went into excessive detail regarding what he was planning to do, whether to them or to the rest of the world - if not, of course, to both.

Minions would be along any time now - most likely from the far side of the monument. Jim stood there in the night, the case holding the ransom money at his side. Any time now…

Ah yes. Here they came.

...

Artie stood in the middle of a bridge over the Potomac River, idly twirling the walking stick in his hand as he kept watch, waiting. He hoped - yes, hoped strongly - that Peanut would shortly be turned over to him as the ransom note had claimed. He hoped, but he did not expect it to happen. What he did expect was for a group of minions to show up shortly, from one end of the bridge or the other. Even more likely, from both ends of the bridge simultaneously…

Ah yes. Here they came…

...

James counted heads as two groups of men came into view, one set emerging from either side of the monument. Four here, four more there, spreading out to surround him. Smiling politely, Jim said, "Gentlemen."

"Yer comin' with us," growled a voice. Two of the men stepped forward, closing quickly with him, reaching for his arms. As they grabbed him, a third, grinning broadly, came up punching his fist into his palm. He swung at Jim's chin.

But the chin was no longer there by the time the fist arrived. Jim had leaned back, pulling the two men clutching his arms off balance, sending them forward. The fist collided with one of them, dropping him to the ground. The man holding Jim's other arm suddenly found his face having a close encounter with the agent's knee. The third fellow, still surprised at having decked his comrade, was caught by further surprise when the case of ransom money smashed into his head.

Three down.

...

Two groups of men appeared, three from the left, three from the right, and no sign of Peanut. "Some days I just hate being right," Artie muttered to himself. Then, aloud, he said, "Good evening, gents! May I help you?"

"Yer comin' with us," someone growled.

"Well, that's an original line," quipped Artie. "But why? I thought you gentlemen were supposed to hand a little girl over to me."

Grim chuckling ensued. "Ain't no little girl here, funny man," said one of the minions - the spokesminion, Artie labeled him. "Yer comin' with us," the fellow added as he produced a revolver, "or I plug you. Here an' now."

"I also thought the ransom note specified no guns."

The spokesminion snorted. "No guns for _you_, mister! It don't apply to us."

"Ah," said Artie. "It's all beginning to make so much sense now! _You _get to carry a gun, and _I _don't get to take the little girl back to her mother." He shook his head. "And here I thought kidnappers were honorable crooks who could be trusted to tell the truth."

The spokesminion's eyes narrowed. "Cut the funny stuff and get movin'! Yer comin' with us!" And he aimed the revolver right between Artie's eyes.

The gun in the spokesminion's hand was the only weapon in evidence so far, Artie noted. With a disarming look of dismay, the agent raised his hands, his walking stick in one hand, while in the other there was something hidden between his palm and thumb.

The spokesminion grinned, motioning one of the two flanking him forward to take charge of the surrendering agent. The chosen minion swaggered up to Artie, bared his teeth in an ugly parody of a smile, then made a sudden vicious punch at Artie's midsection.

Artie pivoted sideways and his walking stick crashed into the head of the now off-balanced minion, dropping him to the floor of the bridge. A split-second later, Artie flung the object he had been palming. The small glass orb sailed out and smashed into the bridge at the spokesminion's feet, enveloping him and his remaining companion in a cloud of vermilion smoke.

Three down. Artie spun to face the other three.

...

A general mêlée was getting into full swing around James West. Of the first three down, two were getting up again, and there were still five fresh men to handle as well. With impeccable timing, Jim backhanded the ransom case into a pair of thugs on a single stroke. Down they went. Now the others pressed in, trying to surround him and overwhelm him. And Jim moved among them like a cat or like a whirlwind, blocking that blow, tripping this foe - the man was poetry in motion.

Yet another minion made a full-faced meeting with the case of ransom money. Jim kept sending thugs to the ground and most of them kept hauling themselves back upright again. But eventually there were only two still left on their feet facing him.

West was watching the pair before him, peripherally aware of those scattered on the ground all about them; he was standing, as it happened, with the incomplete shaft of the Washington Monument directly behind his back. He spotted a flicker in the eye of one of his opponents, followed by the beginnings of a grin. Behind me! thought Jim, and he whirled.

Silhouetted against the ghostly gleam of the white marble edifice was a towering figure, out of which a fist the size of a ham was whistling toward Jim. West had barely enough time for recognition to hit him before the fist did. And then his consciousness took a vacation.

...

Now the weapons appeared. Two of the thugs had knives, the third a cudgel, while Artie was armed with his walking stick, whatever he had hidden in his clothing, and his wits. With a smile, Artie muttered to himself, "Might just be a fair fight after all." He made a feint with the walking stick, testing his opponents' mettle.

"Git 'im!" hollered the one with the cudgel. He ran at Artie, followed closely by his two confederates. Artie parried the blow from the cudgel, but was driven back by the sheer mass of the trio. He tripped over one of the already fallen and landed hard. Shaking his head, Artie looked around and found that he wasn't the only one down. One of the men was flat on his face nearby and groaning in pain, possibly concussed. The second was on his feet, though now empty-handed, while the third was on his knees, scrambling to pick something up.

The gun! He was going after the gun, Artie realized. Rolling, Artie surged to his feet and rushed toward the third man. The thug was reaching for the gun, just about to grasp it, when Artie's boot reached it first and kicked it away.

Now it was Artie's turn to go scrambling after the gun. He was closing on it when one of the minions - he would never know which one - smashed into him with a furious body slam, sending Artie into the parapet of the bridge.

Into the parapet he went, then over the parapet. Artemus Gordon lost his balance and fell with a splash into the black water below.

Now the minion snatched up the gun and leaned over the railing to see a body floating in the river not ten feet below him. And as the thug aimed the gun and cocked the hammer, it dawned on him how very still that body was as it floated face down in the water, arms outstretched.

Oh. He held his fire and, as he watched, the body sank boots first, slipping under the dark water and out of sight.

The minion uncocked the gun and turned to his companions. "Let's git outta here."

Slowly the battered got to their feet and began to pick up the gassed. "The Boss ain't gonna like this," one of them said ominously. "We was s'posed to catch 'im, not kill 'im."

"Can't be helped," said the one with the gun. "And anyways, it was an accident. The Boss, he'll understand. Won't he?"

No one answered him. Hauling away the unconscious, the cadre of minions slunk off into the night.

**~ End of Act One ~**


	6. Act 2, Part 1

**Act Two, Part One ~~~~**

With nary a ripple, the placid waters of the Potomac flowed onward under the bridge. Stillness and silence reigned. Not even the crickets were stirring. Calm was the river, calm was the night, in utter and absolute serenity.

And then something erupted from under the surface with a monumental gasp. For a long moment the waterlogged figure rested on the surface of the water, floating, breathing, recovering - and also listening. Finally judging that the coast was surely clear, the figure rolled over and struck out for the bank, swimming until the water was shallow enough to stand. He then waded, shivering, out onto the shore.

"And the breath-holding champion wins once again," he muttered to himself, still feeling nonetheless very much like a drowned rat - not to mention, extremely sore from head to toe.

"Mr Gordon!"

Artie spun to face the source of the voice which had just called out his name and wearily got ready to defend himself anew. He saw someone - no, make that three someones - running toward him. Artie no longer had either his jacket or his boots, having sacrificed both to the river in exchange for buoyancy, but he did still have one more smoke bomb hidden in his waistband. He pulled it out.

"Oh, Mr Gordon!" called the voice again. "We were watching from cover and saw you go over the side. We were afraid we'd lost you!" Two of the three someones ran out onto the bridge and away in hot pursuit of the fleeing minions. The remaining someone came up to Artie, thrust out a hand, and began pumping Artie's in a vigorously enthusiastic handshake.

Artie disengaged his hand before the other fellow's earnestness could pop the smoke bomb, then peered at the newcomer in the dim light of midnight, and ultimately placed him.

"Richard… Uh, Richard Henry, isn't it?"

"Yes sir, Mr Gordon, sir!" replied the eager young agent. "Colonel Richmond sent us along. Just in case, you know."

Artie's eyebrow arched. "The ransom note said for me to come alone."

"Yes sir. It also said they would return the little girl to you."

Hmm. Touché.

"Wow, Mr Gordon!" the young fellow continued. "You sure are almighty wet!"

"Yeah, well, falling into a river will tend to do that to you, you know," said Artemus. "I don't suppose you have any word on what happened with Jim, do you?"

"No, sir."

"But some of you young fellows were sent out to keep watch over him as well, right? For just in case?"

Sheepishly, young Richard admitted that this was so.

Artie shivered some more. On the one hand, he wanted to go back to the Wanderer to get into some dry clothes, while on the other hand, he knew he ought to go check in with Colonel Richmond, give him his report on what had happened here, and, he hoped, hear what had gone on with Jim. "Mother hen," he muttered at himself.

In the end, duty (and perhaps curiosity as well) won out over comfort. Clapping young Richard on the shoulder, Artie said, "Well, let's go see the colonel."

…

"He what? You _what?_"

No, the Boss was not understanding about the little bobble in springing the trap on Artemus Gordon. No indeed, not for one moment.

"Idiots! Imbeciles! Cretins! You have cost me half of my prize!" Glowering, the Boss glared at the six minions in disbelief. Then he began pointing a shockingly long finger at them. "By your own account," he said, in his anger enunciating each consonant with crystal clarity, "_you _two he had gassed into unconsciousness, while the two of _you _he had managed to inflict concussions upon. Which leaves the pair of _you_." Those electric blue eyes bored into them as the Boss continued with, "Either _you _or _you _are responsible for killing a man whom I did not wish dead - yet. And now I ask you: Which of you two knocked Mr Gordon over the side of the bridge and into the river?"

Instantly each of the pair pointed a finger at the other.

If anything, the Boss's eyes gleamed even more brightly. Through clenched teeth he hissed at them, "I hate liars!" Abruptly he spun away from them, crossing to the doorway where he gave a snap of his fingers. "At least I have another team who did not disappoint me," he added as a man of incredible size ducked his way in through the doorway. Smiling up at the giant, the Boss asked pleasantly, "And where is our most recent guest?"

The giant made a gesture, pointing down the hall.

"Ah, excellent! _Some people_, at least, know how to complete an assignment properly! These two, however," he indicated the pair who were still, ludicrously enough, pointing at each other, "have proven themselves to be unreliable." He smiled at the giant. "You know what to do."

Eagerly the giant nodded, taking a step toward the hapless duo.

"However," the Boss added, forestalling him with an upraised hand, "please, I beg of you, do be quiet about it! That infernal brat has apparently finally dropped off to sleep. I do _not _want her awakened!"

Again the giant nodded, a big happy grin on his great expanse of face. The Boss ambled out of the room, closing the door behind him. Rubbing his hands together, he told himself gleefully, "And now to see about my dear Mr West!"

…

James West groaned and opened his eyes. Hs snapped them shut again, gave it a three-count, then opened them once more. Well… that was marginally better, but still blurry. Hmm…

Now he tried blinking rapidly. There, that was better. He checked his surroundings: a large room, a laboratory judging from the equipment. And yet there was a… piano? or harpsichord? and other furnishings that gave it the flair of a Victorian sitting room. The lights were dimmed and no one was present.

Except… yes, he could hear breathing. Soft, slow, regular breathing it was, as if someone was in here sleeping. He still saw no one, but the breathing was definitely off to his right. He looked in that direction and saw a cage, about the appropriate size to hold a large dog. Jim got up to take a closer look at it, and a chain rattled.

Chain. It was attached to his waist and made it impossible for him to stand fully erect. The other end was of course firmly embedded in the wall. Hmm…

Jim sat down again and took a personal inventory. Both legs were in reasonable working order; there was some scattered soreness, but not enough to incapacitate him. Both arms were the same. The rest of the body was none the worse for wear as well. But the head… ah, the head. Semi-detached? No, just the normal consequences of having been on the receiving end of a clout from…

From Voltaire!

The lights brightened abruptly. "Ah, Mr West!" came an all-too familiar voice. "So good of you to join us!"

In he strolled, that little man. His eyes were bright, his smile broad, his hands folded across his middle as he sauntering forward, relaxed and happy, the genial host. And with him, a few steps behind, was the genial hostess.

"Dr Loveless," said James.

With an acknowledging bow, the little man confirmed, "Dr Miguelito Quixote Loveless, at your service."

Oh, if only it were so! "And attending you, as expected," Jim added, "the ever-lovely Antoinette."

The brunette smiled and gave a slight curtsey, then seated herself at the harpsichord and began to play a soft accompaniment.

"Well, Mr West," said Loveless cheerfully, "at the risk of sounding so very cliché, we meet again!"

"We knew it was you," said West.

"Oh," the doctor chuckled merrily, "I'm sure you did." His smile was dazzling. "Because I make a habit, you see, of going about kidnapping small children." And he waved a hand idly toward the cage at Jim's right.

Ah. Then the source of the sleepy breathing was little Missie Sparrow.

"No," Jim replied, "because you make a habit of trying to eliminate Artie and me in order to carry out your nefarious schemes."

"Nefarious!" Loveless exclaimed. "Why, Antoinette, Mr West has the idea that I intend to be nefarious! What a delicious word, Mr West." His eyes sparkled jovially. "Delicious - but sadly inadequate. I intend, you see, to be fiendish. Devilish. Demonic! Oh yes, and beyond your wildest dreams, Mr West. Merely nefarious is far too tame for the towering genius of Dr Miguelito Loveless!"

"Uh-huh," said West, and he yawned.

Loveless snickered. "Oh, we're playing _that _game again, are we? Pretending indifference in the belief that such apathy will unlock my tongue? Well, it's not going to work this time, Mr West. Because this time, I truly do not care if you know what I am up to or not. By the time anyone knows what my plans are, it will be far, far too late." He grinned, and his grin was horrific.

Loveless turned and strutted over to Antoinette, beamed fondly at her, then joined her in lovely harmony, singing:

_Are you going to Whittingham Fair?  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;  
Remember me to one who lives there,  
For once she was a true love of mine._

_Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,  
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;  
Without any seam or needlework,  
Then she shall be a true lover of mine…_

They sang on and on for a great number of verses, far more verses than Jim bothered to count. Perversely, the agent closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Loveless might play at not caring if West knew his plans, but the little man's giant opinion of himself would not be able to bear it for long; he would brag on his intellect, his superiority, and eventually, yes, his plans.

The last note faded away. The musical pair smiled at each other affectionately. Then, as Antoinette continued to play, Loveless glanced at his shamming captive, chuckled, and crossed to a counter of laboratory equipment, mounting the steps of the mobile staircase alongside it. Humming along to the music, Loveless assembled a few items: test tubes, some flasks of varicolored liquids, and also a block of what appeared to be marble. With occasional glances at the seemingly indifferent West, the little doctor donned a pair of safety goggles and some thick, sturdy gloves. He then mixed some of the components together in a shallow glass dish. The liquid began to seethe. Sneaking another peek at the Secret Service agent, Loveless used an eyedropper to siphon up some of the bubbling liquid. He held the dropper over the block of marble, leaned well back, released a single glistening drop…

_Fwoosh! _The liquid instantly sank into the marble, melting it. Within moments the entire block was crumbling and liquefying into a runny gray slurry, a twisting column of greenish vapor curling up from the residue.

Loveless chortled merrily. "Imagine it, Antoinette!" he said. "With this substance, I can dissolve marble. Statuary, monuments, buildings…" Again he peeked at the supposedly sleeping James West. "All I need do is load this liquid into an atomizer and spray it throughout the streets of Washington D.C., and _voilà! _No more Capitol building. No more White House. No more…" his maniacal laughter rose into a gleeful crescendo, "No more Washington D.C.!"

Antoinette, still playing, queried, "But what will happen, dear Miguelito, to the people who are inside those buildings when your marvelous liquid hits the marble and destroys it?"

Still laughing, he replied, "Why, Antoinette my sweet, I suppose they will…" another glance at West, "…drown in their own buildings!"

"How clever of you, Miguelito!"

"Yes. Isn't it? Don't you think so, Mr West?"

No answer.

Loveless glanced at Antoinette, then gave her a wave of his hand, dismissing her. She rose from the harpsichord, came and touched his shoulder fondly, then retired.

Loveless watched her go, then turned once more to his prisoner as he stripped off the heavy gloves and the goggles. "By the way, my dear Mr West, as you may or may not have noticed, something is missing." He gestured now to the agent's left.

Jim, however, continued to feign sleep.

Suddenly the doctor was right in his face. "Mr West! I am telling you something important!"

James blinked at him and made a huge yawn. "Hmm? You said something?" he murmured.

"Yes, Mr West, I was saying," Loveless continued loudly, "as you may or may not have noticed, something is missing!" And once more he gestured to the agent's left.

Jim looked. A few feet away from him was a second chain bolted to the wall, terminating in a large loop just like the one about his own waist, but the other chain was empty.

"This," said Loveless, taking up a convenient walking stick and using it to prod at the empty chain, "was intended to accommodate your great good friend Mr Gordon. Alas, that is not to be. In the course of attempting to, ah, pick up Mr Gordon, it seems that my minions inadvertently managed to kill him instead." The doctor's eyes watched West intently, eagerly, ghoulishly.

West merely stared at him; the little doctor had pulled the dead-Artie prank on him before. "If Artie's dead," said Jim blandly, "then where is his body?"

"At the bottom of the Potomac, I'm afraid," said Loveless. "Oh, but don't worry. Those whose incompetence compassed the premature death of our Mr Gordon have, shall we say, paid for their error."

"How judicial of you," said West.

"Yes, wasn't it?" said Loveless brightly. "In fact, I cannot think of anyone more suitable to administer jus…" He had swung about in the midst of his declaration, and now his eyes fell on something that caused him to break off suddenly in mid-word. "You!"

Loveless was staring at the cage. Jim turned to look as well.

The big brown eyes were wide open now, framed by the blonde curls above and the fingers in the mouth below. "So," said the little doctor, striding over to the child in the cage. "You can be silent after all!"

Pop went the fingers. Scowling, the child complained, "I sleepin' an' someone started talkin'. Wakeded me up. Where my Mamma?"

The doctor thrust his head forward. "She isn't here," he stated spitefully. "She isn't coming. And what's more, your Pappa isn't coming either." And he glared in triumph at the child.

"Papa?" said little Missie. "Why'd Papa come here anyway? He wif G'amma in Chicago."

"No, he isn't!" Loveless insisted. "He was going to be here tonight! But he's dead!"

"No!" Missie insisted right back. "Papa in Chicago wif G'amma!"

"You infuriating little minx!" cried the doctor. "I'm telling you…!"

"Ah, Dr Loveless…" West interrupted.

"What!" hissed the little man, whirling toward him.

"When Missie says 'Papa,' she means her grandfather. And he lives in Chicago with her grandmother, just as she told you. Now, if you're trying to tell her that her father is dead, she already knows that."

Missie nodded. "My daddy die 'fore I got bornded. Mamma tol' me."

"Well, your Mamma _lied!_" Loveless proclaimed. "Because your father died this very night! My men killed him!"

"Huh?" said the little girl, looking utterly and completely baffled.

"What?" said Jim. He stared at Dr Loveless, and then, incredibly, he began to laugh. "You are absolutely out of your mind, do you know that? Her father was a man named Craig Sparrow, who died in Chicago three years ago."

"Her father," Loveless fumed, "was none other than Artemus Gordon, who drowned in the Potomac not two hours ago!" And now Loveless stormed over to rail at James West. "I saw him! I was spying on your varnish car and I saw the way Gordon greeted that brat and her mother! I saw how, how _affectionate _he was toward them! I saw!" He slapped himself in the chest in his passion to prove himself right. "Why else would a man greet a woman with a little child in such a very loving manner?"

"Because they are cousins," Jim retorted, "and hadn't seen each other since before the War." He shook his head. "You always think you're the smartest man on the face of the earth, Loveless, but you certainly blew this one. Artie's not Missie's father - but he was looking forward to getting to play the role of doting uncle for her."

Loveless scoffed and turned away. "You just refuse to face the fact that your best friend was a despicable cad with a hidden love child!"

Jim sat in silence, partly stunned at Loveless' misinterpretation of Artie's feelings for the girl and her mother, but mostly shocked at the doctor's assertion that his best friend was dead. I need proof, he thought, and a lot more proof than the say-so of that evil little man! Drowned? A good swimmer like Artie? A man who prided himself on his ability to hold his breath? No, I won't believe it. I don't believe that Artie is dead!

A sound interrupted his thoughts. "Unca… Unca… Oddie?" said a tiny young voice. Little Missie had finally put together the things Dr Loveless had been saying. "Unca Oddie… dead?" And the little girl began mourning at the top of her lungs, grieving with all her heart for her beloved Uncle Artie whom she'd only met once.

At the resumption to the child's howling, Loveless threw back his head, gave vent to a tremendous howl of his own, slammed his hands over his ears, and fled.

Hmm… kid sure knows how to clear a room, thought Jim.

Left alone with the wailing child, West moved as close to her cage as his chain would permit him, reaching out his hand to bridge the remaining gap. "Missie," he called to her. "Missie!" And when her wrenching sobs did not abate, he tried instead, "Peanut!"

"Huh?" She turned her sorrowful little face toward him.

"Missie, do you remember me? I'm Uncle Artie's friend. Remember?"

She nodded.

"My name is Jim West. Remember?"

"Uh-huh."

He smiled at her. "Missie, don't let Dr Loveless know this, but I don't think Uncle Artie's dead."

"He… he innit?"

"No."

She leaned against the bars of her playpen at the point closest to the nice blue-eyed man. "Den why dat nasty man tell me he dead? An' how come he tink Unca Oddie my daddy? He stupid or somethin'?"

Jim smiled at the logic of the child. "Yes," he agreed. "Or something."


	7. Act 2, Part 2

**Act Two, Part Two ~~~~**

Professionally his name was Vogel, and his profession was rumors. He collected them, sifted through them, fitted them together like the pieces of a puzzle, and when appropriate, he acted on them in the best interests of his government. He was very good at what he did, which is to say, he never got caught, and he never broke any laws, not personally. He was rather proud of the fact that the existence of Vogel himself was, for most people, nothing more than mere rumor.

Curious tidings had come to his notice in the past few hours. Someone was out there digging for rumors about the kidnapping of a certain child. This would not be so remarkable on the face of it, but what had struck Vogel as strange was that the _only _rumor he had heard about this kidnapping was that someone was looking for rumors about it.

There was also a rumor of a bizarre medical case having been taken to hospital. And most recent of all, there had been a great deal of activity on the part of the Secret Service, including the tale that one of their own had been killed.

Vogel sat back in his chair, considering it all, a finger idly tracing the scar across his cheek. Something was afoot; what, he did not yet know. Should it involve only the Americans, it would be none of his concern. But if the tendrils of this matter should insinuate themselves into the affairs of his own people, then he would need to act, and act decisively.

For now, there was only the waiting. He would wait and he would watch to see what further rumors might come to his attention…

…

Before they reached the anteroom of Colonel Richmond's office, young Richard found Artie some towels, which were a great help. Boots as well would have been an added bonus, but at least, Artie thought, he was no longer dripping. As Richard was about to open the anteroom door, Artie stopped him with, "Look. Mrs Sparrow, my niece, was in there earlier waiting for news about her daughter. Would you mind going in first to see if she's awake?"

"Sure, Mr Gordon, sir!"

Artie waited out in the corridor, hoping fervently that Niecie was asleep. To have to face her right now, empty-handed…

The door opened again. "She was sleeping, Mr Gordon," said Richard.

Oh good, thought Artie.

"So I woke her up." Richard swung the door fully open to reveal Denise standing right there at his side.

For a moment the two just stared at each other without speaking. Then she said in shock, "What… what happened to you, Uncle Artie?"

He gave a reassuring smile. "Oh, nothing more than an unexpected dip in the Potomac."

Her eyes were roaming beyond him, up and down the corridor, then back to his face. "But… where…?"

He shook his head. "She wasn't there." Meeting her eyes apologetically, he said, "They didn't even bring her."

"But… I don't understand. Why did the note say for you to come get her when they weren't going to…" Her eyes widened. "It was a trap! They took Missie as bait to get to you!"

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," he said. He took her hand and squeezed it.

She was shaking her head. "But, Uncle Artie, what do we do now?"

"Right now," he replied, "I go speak with Colonel Richmond."

…

"You must be prescient," said Colonel Richmond, seeing Artie's condition.

"Sir?"

"Your clothes. You left a change of clothing here in my office earlier this evening." He waved a hand at the cast-aside shirt and pants from Artie's previous disguise. "Go ahead and change if you'd like."

"Thank you, sir." Artie took the clothes and retired to the washroom. He reappeared shortly and, dry once more, gave the colonel his report.

"So it was in fact as you and Jim suspected: a trap."

"Yes, Colonel. And Jim? Is there any word?"

Richmond nodded. "Yes, he was set upon by an even larger contingent than you were, including," he met Artie's eye, "a man of prodigious height."

"Voltaire."

"Apparently. And…" The colonel picked up something from the floor behind his desk and set it on the desk for Artie to examine. It was the case of ransom money, and when Artie opened it, he found it was full.

"We've already counted; it's all there. Not even one bill was taken. So again you and Jim were right: it wasn't about the money."

Artie regarded the case for a moment. "And they left it behind, meaning Jim wasn't able to use it to leave a trail. However…" He glanced at the colonel, who nodded.

"Yes, Artemus. I had you each followed." He moved to a large map on the wall depicting the D.C. environs. "And the trail leads here."

Artie looked where the colonel was pointing. "Arlington. At the cemetery?"

"No, but in that area. My secretary has a map drawn up of the precise location for you. Now, you can have as many men as you want for this operation, Artemus."

"Thank you, sir, but it's best I go in alone." The colonel began to object, but Artie raised a hand. "This is Loveless, Colonel. For him it's always personal. It's always about Jim. About me as well, but to a lesser extent. Loveless' focus is always on Jim. Anyone else you might send in, Loveless might well simply kill out of hand."

"But not you."

"Well, not until after he's monologued at me first. The little doctor does love to gloat!"

"I'm not sending one man all alone, Artemus," said the colonel levelly.

"I'm not saying you should, sir. Back-up is certainly welcome, as long as they stay outside."

"I'll have the place surrounded then."

"Thank you, sir. Now… I need to go back to the Wanderer first, Colonel. My little escapade earlier cost me not just my jacket and boots, but most of my special equipment and I need to restock. So if you don't mind, sir…"

"Pike will be in charge of the men on-site." The colonel extended his hand. "God speed, Artemus."

"Thank you, sir," Artie replied as they shook hands. And he expected he'd need it, he added silently to himself. He stepped out into the anteroom and asked Keeley for the promised map. As he waited for it, he glanced at Niecie trying to make herself comfortable on the hard wooden bench, and on the spur of the moment called out to her.

"Yes, Uncle Artie?"

"Look, Sunshine, you come on with me."

She sat up and laid aside the blanket she'd been given. "Why, where are you going?"

"To the Wanderer. I'll let you borrow my stateroom for the night. I can vouch for the bed there being much softer than that ol' bench is going to be."

"Oh, but…" She hopped up and crossed the room to him. "Uncle Artie, where will you sleep?"

He wouldn't, he thought, anticipating the work ahead of him to take up the rest of the night or more. But to her, he said only, "Oh, I've slept on the sofa before. Don't worry about it," and he offered her his arm. Once she was settled down in the stateroom, he could lock up and slip away, he thought; she'd be safe enough on the train.


	8. Act 2, Part 3

**Act Two, Part Three ~~~~**

Artie unlocked the rear door and let Niecie into the varnish car, then started turning up the lights. "Have a seat anywhere, Sunshine."

She wandered the length of the room before sitting down at the table. "Uncle Artie…"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Where's Mr West?"

"Hmm? Oh, Jim's still out investigating."

"Really?" she said as he reached the lights near the interior door. There was something in her tone of voice that caught his attention. With a disarming chuckle, he said, "Well, of course, Niecie. Where else would he be?"

"You tell me," she said. "When Mr West left Colonel Richmond's office, he was carrying the case of the ransom money. Shortly before you returned to the office, someone brought back the case and all the money was still in it. But Mr West didn't come back."

He looked at her. "How do you know all that?"

"Oh, I… overheard."

"Overheard." He came and sat at the table opposite her and leveled a stern look her way. "Richard Henry said that you were sleeping when he and I arrived."

"Well then, Mr Henry doesn't know everything, does he?" Casting Artie a side-long look, she added, "Perhaps I was only pretending to be asleep."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well, Uncle Artie, no one was telling me anything! As long as I was obviously awake, everyone kept either speaking in hushed tones or else going into the colonel's office to talk. But after I started lying completely still with my eyes shut, they soon began to act like I wasn't even there, and to talk much more freely in front of me."

He gaped. "Why, you little sneak!"

She shot him a sharp look. "Am I? Well, you know they do say that some apples don't fall very far from the tree, Uncle Artie. You played drunk once when you had to impart some bad news to my father, so I played asleep to learn what might well be bad news about my daughter." Leaning closer, she said, "But what is going on? This is my little girl who's involved! My flesh and blood, and the last link I have with the man I loved with all my heart. I want to know the truth now, Uncle Artie!" Then more softly, with big dewy eyes, she added, "Please?"

He wrestled over it for a minute or so, then reached across the table, took her hand in his own, muttered something about feminine wiles, then told her all he knew.

…

By the end of the recitation, Denise had pulled out the handkerchief Uncle Artie had given her earlier and was making heavy use of it. But once he was finished speaking, she met his gaze with an unwavering one of her own, steel in her eyes even as the tears continued to spill freely down her cheeks. "What…" she said, then closed her eyes to steady her voice. "What do we do now?"

"_We _do nothing," he responded. "_I_ am going to get ready and go help Jim rescue Peanut." And he left unsaid that there was the possibility this might involve him rescuing Jim from Loveless' clutches as well. "As for you, you're going to bed."

"No, I don't think so," came her voice gently.

His eyebrows arched. "Excuse me?"

She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Uncle Artie. I know I've been raised to think of you as one of my elders, someone I'm to obey. But I will not be left behind! Not while my little girl is in the hands of a madman!"

"Niecie, this is dangerous!"

"If it's dangerous for me, how much more dangerous is it for Missie? Uncle Artie, she's a frightened little two-year-old who needs her Mamma."

"She needs her Mamma _alive_, you mean!"

She squeezed his hand again. "Uncle Artie, you've got to stop thinking of me as a little child to be protected. I'm not a child anymore; I haven't been for a long time."

"You'll always be my little girl to me, Niecie. Ask your parents; they'll say the exact same thing."

"I know." She gave him a fond smile. "And you'll always be my knight in shining armor. But if you'll remember, you specifically gave me permission to grow up. And I did." She gave a little laugh. "I had to; I've been a widow for three years."

"Uh… what does being a widow have to do with anything?"

"Why, everything, Uncle Artie! I've had to learn to do anything that needs doing for myself, because there isn't going to be a big strong man coming home at the end of the day to do it for me. Fix the shingles on the roof? I've done that. Reglaze a window? I've done that too. And whenever my choices were to fix something up or else do without it - well, I learned to get very creative with whatever I could find on hand." She grinned. "You'd be amazed at what I can do with a ball of twine and a few toothpicks."

"But when you needed help, why didn't you just go ask your parents?"

She fell silent, looked down for a long moment, then said very softly, "You were there when she started playing matchmaker. And after my wonderful Craig was gone, Mother only got worse. The last time I dropped in unexpectedly to bring Missie to see my parents, Mother tucked a note into my hand that she had already drawn up for me, listing no less than fourteen men of her acquaintance, all of them 'eligible bachelors' - by which of course she meant single and rich - who she was sure would find me charming, and who would not mind too terribly marrying a woman with a small child," and she now fixed him with a look, "especially as, after the wedding, that small child was going to be living with her grandparents for them to raise her."

Artie leaned back and gave a low whistle. "Oh, she didn't…!"

"And now you know why I leapt at the chance to move to Georgetown," said Denise dryly.

"I'm so sorry, Sunshine. And I'm also proud of your accomplishments all on your own. But you're still not coming with me." He patted her hand, then got up and headed for the corridor.

"I can ride," she called after him. "I can shoot. Craig taught me that. I once shot the head off a poisonous snake that was in the yard. One shot."

He paused, impressed. She had to have a steady hand.

She rose from the table and came to his side. "Uncle Artie, I'm not afraid."

"Oh, you're not? Then obviously I haven't explained the situation to you adequately."

"Are you afraid?" she countered.

He gave her a small smile. "That doesn't matter. Jim needs me."

"And Missie needs me!" Looking him in the eye, she quoted, " '…If a member of that reviewer's own family - someone he loved - were being held against his will, forced into a life of unpaid servitude, surely that reviewer would move heaven and earth to rescue his relative. Wouldn't he?' "

Artie gaped at her, a fire sparking to life in his eye. "You…!"

"I realize you were talking about slavery when you said that to Mother, but this is someone I love being held against her will. Do you expect me to not be ready to move heaven and earth with my own two hands for my Missie's sake?"

How dare she use his own words against him! Leveling a finger at her, he said, "You were not supposed to be listening in on that conversation!"

"Well, it's not as if I were sneaking around to eavesdrop on you. You knew I was there the whole time, practicing piano while you and Mother were talking."

Lips set in a firm line, he regarded her for a long moment, then said, "The answer is still No." And he pushed open the door and started down the corridor.

"What if you get in there," her voice pursued him, "and you find the situation is such that you would need to carry them both out? How would you choose which one to leave behind: Mr West or Peanut?"

He came back through the door. "Now, Niecie, that's not fair!"

"Fair?" she retorted. "When is life fair? Was it fair for me to be cheated of the opportunity to grow old alongside the man I adored?" Her eyes blazing, she continued, "I was cheated of all the years I should be spending with Craig; I will not be cheated of the years with Missie as well!"

Artie stood in the doorway looking at his fiery young cousin. He was going to regret this, he told himself. He was regretting it already. But he nodded and said, "All right. You can come."

Her face lit up with delight and she flung her arms around him in a big hug. "Oh, Uncle Artie!"

"But!" he said severely. "There are going to be some rules and you will have to obey them."

"Yes, Uncle Artie."

"And Rule Number One is that you must obey me, whatever I tell you to do, instantly and without hesitation."

"Yes, Uncle Artie."

"Besides that, don't get in my way, don't rush ahead of me, and don't lag behind."

"Yes, Uncle Artie."

"And don't touch anything, don't trip on anything, don't pick up anything. Don't flip any switches, turn any knobs, or press any buttons."

"Yes, Uncle Artie."

He sighed. "Aw, what it all boils down to is this: don't do anything stupid."

She nodded and took his hand. "I'll try not to, Uncle Artie."

He squeezed her fingers. "All right. You wait here. I need to go get ready."

"Yes, Uncle Artie." And as he went down the corridor, her voice floated after him, saying, "Just remember that if you try to sneak off without me, I _will _follow you; I saw the map and know where you're going."

Oh, she knew him too well! thought Artie as he began to assemble his disguise and equipment.


	9. Act 2, Part 4

**Act Two, Part Four ~~~~**

The door to Dr Loveless' lab opened and Antoinette came in. Quietly she crossed the room to check on the two captives. The child, she saw, was sound asleep, with streaks of dampness across her cheeks as mute evidence that the little girl had cried herself to sleep. Mr West too was lying still, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and deep and regular. Playfully, Antoinette knelt by the man's side and placed a kiss on his forehead.

He didn't stir, not even a hair.

Smiling and satisfied that neither man nor child was awake, Antoinette got back up and went to the door. Glancing around one last time, she turned the gas lights down for the night and left.

Half a minute later, Jim slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He and Missie were alone now. Very briefly he wondered about the kiss Antoinette had given him; he had been greatly tempted to catch her and kiss her back, just to see if he could persuade her to help him and the little girl escape. But that, he figured, wasn't likely to ever happen, for the doctor's singing partner was thoroughly loyal to Loveless, heart and soul.

And now he dismissed Antoinette from his thoughts. It was time to get to work.

He popped the heel off his right boot, and from inside the hollow of the heel he tipped out a little vial into his hand before replacing the heel with a sharp rap of his other palm. Pulling the stopper from the vial, he carefully poured the contents into the lock on the shackle around his waist, making sure that none of the liquid got on himself or his clothing. Smoke began curling up from the metal; in a matter of minutes Jim gave a sharp jerk to the two sides of the shackle and they parted, releasing him.

West laid the shackle aside quietly, then hopped up and crossed to the door. He listened and heard no sound beyond it. Good. Now Jim went to the counter where Loveless had conducted his little marble-melting demonstration. Looking around, he found some small vials and a sack, then began pouring up into the vials samples of the various liquids Loveless had used, popping the stoppers in them and stowing them inside the sack.

Ok, he thought, and now for Missie.

Jim went to the cage-cum-playpen and whispered her name. It took a few tries, switching between her mother's nickname for her and Artie's, before the child responded with a drowsy, "Huh?"

"Missie, it's Jim West. Be very quiet; I'm going to get you out of there."

That woke her up. "Weally?"

West winced. Why was it that young children had no idea of how to whisper? "Yes, but be very, very quiet. Get as far away from the lock as you can, all right?"

She scooted away from the lock and watched with interest as the man pulled the heel off his left boot and took out a lump of blue clay. He fixed his heel back, then kneaded the clay and stuck it on the lock. He next pulled a thick white string from his coat and poked that into the clay. Then he used a match to light the string. _Fzzzzzzz! _went the string as the man ran around to the back of the cage where she was crouching. He put his arms through the bars and held onto her, him outside, her inside. And then…

_Whooph! _The lock fell open and off, all by itself. Jim lifted the lid off the cage and let Missie out. The little girl grinned happily and jumped up and down, clapping her hands. "Dat fun!"

"Shhhhhh," said Jim, wondering again that the child had no concept of being quiet. Picking her up and also taking up the bag of chemicals, he whispered, "Let's go."

Jim went back to the door and listened yet again. No sounds still. He eased the door open, then slipped through it. Which direction from here he wasn't sure, having been unconscious when he was brought in. But…

"Dat way," said Missie, pointing off to the right.

He laid a shushing finger on her lips and asked gently, "Is that the way you came in?"

She nodded.

"Ok. You keep pointing the way, and we'll get you home to your Mamma in no time." He smiled at her, and she put her chubby little arms about his neck and rested her cheek against him.

Off they went.

The place was like a warren, and Jim just hoped the child's memory was sound. Every so often he had to dodge into a doorway or behind a pile of boxes or some such, hiding as a set of minions walked by. But no one spotted them.

At last they reached a T-junction, where they found a set of stairs leading to a metal door set in the ceiling. Missie, pointing, proclaimed, "Dat where da lady bwingded me in."

"Shhhhh. Lady?"

The little girl nodded. "Da music lady."

Ah! So the beekeeper who kidnapped Missie had been none other than Antoinette herself! Interesting.

Jim set the child down and climbed the stairs to examine the door. The lock was simple enough, and he saw no sign of a booby-trap. Putting down his bag of chemicals, he took the lock pick from under his lapel and set to work.

Missie shrieked!

Jim whirled. A second later something smacked into his legs. His fist started to fly… But no. That was Missie. Pulling back the punch, he changed it into a pat on her back. Wailing, she cowered behind him, pointing back toward the corridor they had come from.

A big tough-looking fellow was standing in the entrance of the T-junction. A moment later two more appeared from behind him, followed by another pair. They fanned out, blocking every exit but the locked door in the ceiling. They were grinning, and it looked as if they had raided a billiards room, since they were all armed with sticks about five feet long.

Jim tucked away his lock pick, then lifted the little girl and set her on the topmost step. "Stay here," he told her. She nodded, then jammed her fingers into her mouth, eyes wide, cringing on the step as she instinctively tried to make herself as small as possible.

Jim smiled at the set of minions as he came down the steps. "I don't suppose the little girl and I can just leave?"

As reply, one of the group came at Jim, aiming a vicious chop with his stick at the agent's head. West leaned sideways at the last second, and as the attacker was thrown off-balance by his own momentum, Jim clasped his two hands together and brought them down across the back of the man's neck. One down.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," said Jim. Swiftly he spun to meet the next assault. Two men rushed him together this time. As one went after his head and missed, the other aimed for Jim's legs and connected. Down went West. "We got 'im now!" that man chortled. He swaggered in, raising his stick for a _coup de grâce_.

Jim rolled and kicked out, catching the guy on the kneecap. He crumpled. Two down.

Jim hopped back to his feet just in time as the other guy moved in, coming at West cautiously, prodding the stick at him, forcing him back... back... backing him up against the wall. With a grin he swung at Jim's head like a batter swinging at a baseball.

But he'd apparently forgotten that baseballs can't dodge and Jim could. The stick missed Jim and hit the wall. Immediately Jim's hand clamped down on it, stapling the stick flat to the wall as Jim's other hand made a quick and powerful contact with the fellow's noggin. Three down.

The fourth man closed with him rapidly, forcing him into a shoulder-high stack of boxes along the wall. Jim grabbed the top box and slung it at his assailant, following it up immediately with the second box. On sheer reflex, the man swung at the box, and in the moment when the fellow was distracted, Jim grabbed his arm and yanked him off balance, sending him head-first into the wall. Four down.

There was a growl like an angry bull as arms suddenly surrounded Jim from behind. It was the second assailant, ready for round two. "I'll pay you back for my knee, you little...!" he snarled. Exactly how he planned to finish the insult was left unsaid as Jim slammed his head back into his opponent's chin, stunning him. West then pivoted and grabbed the guy by the shoulders, pulling the man's head down as he drove his own knee up.

Number two was down for the second time. But where…? Jim glanced around. Where was Number Five?

"Over here, Mr West!" The fifth man was there on the steps, his arm wrapped around the little girl, one hand over her mouth, the other pressing a knife against her. Grinning, he said, "Now, you wouldn't want anything to happen to her, would you?"

Jim lifted his hands.

"That's right," said the fifth man. "You been caught. Now march!" He came down the steps, still carrying Missie, and walked over to Jim. "March, I said!"

Jim, hands still raised, nodded while making a big show of breathing heavily. "Get a move on!" growled Number Five. He had the kid in one arm, the knife in his opposite hand, and no hand left to urge West on with. So he moved the knife from the girl, with the intent of using it to tickle West's ribs.

And Jim West was ready for him. Instantly his hand snaked out and grasped Number Five's wrist, reversing the fellow's arm up his back, forcing him to his knees, pulling his arm higher and higher until the man could no longer keep his grip on the knife and dropped it. His grip on Missie slackened as well; the child squirmed free and ran up the stairs again.

Jim planted a foot on the knife and said, "Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Pick on someone your own size'?"

"Y-yes sir, Mr West!" said Number Five.

"Next time, remember it," Jim advised. Then he punched the guy's lights out.

Five down, no one left, and no one getting back up. Jim made a quick survey just to make sure, then returned to the door, pulled out his lock pick again, and finished unlocking the door.

Slowly he opened it and glanced out. All was clear. "Ready to go, Missie?" he said.

The child flung her arms round his neck as he picked her up. "You sure can fight, Unca Jim!" she announced proudly.

Oh, so he was Uncle Jim now! He grabbed up the bag of chemical samples and off they went, out into the wee hours of the night.

…

Behind them in Dr Loveless' lair, maniacal laughter echoed. "Oh, my dear Mr West! How predictable you are!" A long-fingered hand shook a small box, eliciting loud buzzing from within. "I wonder how you will like my little pets, Mr West?"

The merry laughter continued, swelling, flourishing, lingering…

**~ End of Act Two ~**


	10. Act 3, Part 1

**Act Three, Part One ~~~~**

The door, which was set flush with the ground, opened into a forested area. Jim set Missie down and closed the door back as quietly as possible, then said to the child, "I don't suppose you know where to go from here, do you?"

Solemnly she shook her head.

Jim checked the sky. From the march of the constellations and the phase of the lately-risen moon, the roundest edge of which would always be on the side nearest the sun, he worked out his cardinal directions. But which direction was Washington from here? Hmm…

Ah! "Missie, did you cross over the river when the music lady brought you here?"

Wordlessly, fingers firmly in her mouth, the child nodded.

Oh, _now _she was being quiet! "And how many times did you cross the river?"

Missie held up one chubby finger.

Once. Hmm… assuming that Antoinette crossed over water fairly close to Georgetown, then she brought the little girl over the Potomac and not the Eastern Branch. And so they were now in Virginia, in which case, they should head more or less to the north-east.

"All right, let's go," Jim said to Missie.

Suddenly there was a loud buzzing sound. Ow! Jim swatted at his neck, then glanced at his palm. The broken residue of insect there didn't look like any bug he was familiar with. Knocking away the mess, Jim bent to pick up the child and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Missie's hand flew from her mouth ludicrously fast. "'Nc'J'mwh'tswr'ng?"

The child's voice was like a chipmunk's, a rapid chattering, the words all blurred together. "What's that, Missie?" said Jim.

To her, his words came out as, "Wwwhhhaaattt'sss ttthhhaaattt, Mmmiiissssssiiieee?" It scared her to hear him talk like that, and she began to cry.

Jim had never seen tears run down so fast, far too fast for gravity to account for. The child's wails were strangely accelerated as well. What…?

Then it hit him. Mrs Beecham! This was what the housekeeper had described to him. Something had bitten her, and then the world around her had sped up. Or, as Dr Feldstrom had put it, she had slowed down to one-third normal speed.

One-third of normal! How was he to get Missie out of here if he was moving at one-third of normal speed? Surely Loveless would discover their escape shortly and send his minions after them.

They had to get out of there, pronto. Jim didn't bother to pick up the child now, reasoning that he likely wouldn't be able to move any faster than the two-year-old. Instead, he took her hand, said what sounded to her like, "Llleeettt'sss gggooo," and set out as fast as he could travel toward the north-east.

…

They struck a road after a while. It wasn't going in the direction Jim wanted, running instead vaguely north-west to east, but he decided to follow it anyway, choosing to keep going somewhat north rather than head east.

They walked on. It seemed to Jim that the stars overhead were visibly moving. This was just barely on the edge of perceptibility, but definitely noticeable. The dust underfoot drew his attention as well, for it was settling far faster than it ought to. Artie would get a kick out of this, he thought. His partner's scientific curiosity would thrill at the prospect of getting to watch the world go by at three times its normal speed. Actually, Jim probably would have enjoyed the novelty himself, if only he weren't in the middle of a Loveless plot, racing the clock to reach Colonel Richmond to inform him of the little madman's scheme, as well as racing to get Missie to safety and to keep the pair of them from being captured once again by Loveless' minions.

A sound came up behind them. By the time the noise registered on Jim's slowed awareness, the source of it was nearly upon them. He turned and saw a small wagon drawn by a pale, almost ghostly-looking horse heading in the same direction they were going. A teen-aged girl mannishly attired in a flannel shirt and work pants was driving the rig. Seeing the pedestrians, she reined up and called out, "Hey, there! Need a lift?"

To Jim, what the girl said sounded like, "H'th'r'N'd'l'ft?" The fact that the wagon had stopped was clue enough for him though, so he hurried over, or at least tried to.

The girl hopped down and helped both man and child into the bed of her wagon, saying cheerfully, "You can call me Lee." She clambered back into the seat again, then slapped the reins and off they went.

Turning her head, the girl called Lee asked them, "So, heading into Washington?"

Jim, hearing her question as chipmunk chattering, guessed at the last bit being the word Washington and gambled on the answer. 'Yyyeeesss," he said.

She gave a whistle. "No offense, mister, but how come you're out in the middle of nowhere with a little bitty kid when you are sloshed to the gills, huh?"

Jim wasn't sure what the run-together syllables meant this time, so he merely smiled in reply. Missie, however, dragged her fingers from her mouth to ask, "Wha's slosh' ta da gills mean?"

Lee glanced back and saw the child's big eyes looking up at her, wide with curiosity. "It means… Oh, never mind what it means. Is this your daddy?"

"Nuh-uh. Dat Unca Jim."

"Oh, he's your uncle?" the young woman asked.

"Naw. He Unca Oddie fwend. He takin' me home to Mamma."

"Oh… I see…" said Lee, even though the child's answers were no clearer to her than mud. "Well, what's your name then?"

"Oddamess."

Lee drove on in silence for a bit, trying to make head or tail of the child's answers. Finally she gave another try: "So where do you live, um, Oddamess?"

"Doortown."

Doortown? She'd never heard of such a place as that! The young woman pondered it for a bit, turning the name over and over in her head. Doortown… door… wait! "Georgetown? Is that where you live?"

The child nodded vigorously.

"Oh good, now we're getting somewhere! And where in Georgetown do you live?"

"Mista Mohgan."

"Mr Morgan's?" Again the nod. "And where is that?"

Blank stare.

"You don't know the name of your street?" Lee turned to look at the child, whose only response was a slow shake of her head.

Jim, feeling both queasy and drowsy, which he presumed were likely more effects from the bug bite, lay down in the bed of the wagon and let the rapid-fire conversation between the two girls wash over him. He hated feeling so weak, so helpless, so tired, so out of control.

And as their wagon jounced on through the darkness, another wagon came along and passed them going in the opposite direction, a wagon whose shotgun rider was none other than Jeremy Pike.

…

On the Wanderer, Denise was waiting. For a while she sat at the table, but when she caught herself dozing - for she didn't entirely trust that Uncle Artie truly would take her along and feared that, if he caught her napping, he would simply go on without her - she got up and began to roam about the parlor, looking at whatever struck her attention.

The first item to catch her eye was the fireplace. It looked so shallow! How could a fire ever be laid in it? Next she spotted a set of books standing on the desk, but when she tried to pull one out to look at it, she found the entire set moved together. Fake books.

She then found some real books, some of them individual volumes of the plays of Shakespeare, others various collections of poetry, or books of history or of science. She browsed through these for a while, until she found that her eyes were refusing to focus on the pages.

She returned the latest book to its place, then spotted a brace of revolvers standing on the desk, mounted on a rectangular base. What a curious item! She leaned in to get a closer look.

"Now, y' don' wanna be touchin' the likes o' that, me darlin'!" came a voice from the other end of the parlor behind her. Denise jerked upright and whirled.

A man was lounging in the doorway to the corridor, a small brown man: brown skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and three days' growth of brown stubble across his brown cheeks. Even his shabby, faded old clothes were brown. He had a scar across his nose and a squint in one eye, although both eyes sparkled with lively interest as he regarded her with a hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

Denise stared at him. Her jaw dropped.

His head gave a tilt that reminded her of a robin. Cocking an eyebrow at her, he said, "Catchin' flies, darlin'?"

"Mike!" she sputtered. "Mike Murray!"

"Then you do remember," said Uncle Artie, dropping the Irish accent and altering his posture to regain his usual height. Denise now noticed the small box he was carrying in one hand and the collection of clothing that was draped over his arm.

"Remember?" she said as he went to the table and disburdened himself. "How could I ever forget? You had me completely fooled all morning with that disguise - and Mother never did catch on!"

He grinned as she joined him at the table. "It was a good one, wasn't it?" Glancing at her, he went on, "I chose the Mike Murray disguise tonight because I wanted to be someone you were familiar with, so you wouldn't have to struggle to remember the name - and you didn't. Also, I never used Mike Murray but that one time in Chicago, so he shouldn't be a give-away. Now, as for _you_," and he chose one of the garments, shook it out, and held it up against her. It was a long full peasant skirt in a bright blue print. He eyed it critically, then shook his head. Laying that one aside, he next picked a similar skirt in a rust tone. "Yes, that suits you better," he said, adding, "We Gordons seem to do best in warm colors." He passed her that skirt, then sorted through the stack of clothing, produced a plain yellow blouse, and held that up against her as well. "What do you think?"

"I can't simply wear what I have on?"

"Niecie! You're not getting into the spirit of this!" he chided teasingly. "Besides," he added, "we don't know how closely Loveless may have studied you before kidnapping Peanut. You cannot appear as yourself. You'll be in the company of ol' Mike Murray and you'll need to look the part. And that part can be either my mother, my sister, or my wife: your choice."

"Your mother!" Denise exclaimed. "I couldn't possibly be taken for your mother, Uncle Artie!"

He patted the box he'd brought in. "_Au contraire, cherie! _Properly made up, you would pass very well as an old woman." A twinkle in his eye, he suddenly transformed before her eyes into an aged man, intoning, "Or are you forgetting about King Lear? I was younger than you when I played that role, you know."

"Yes, but you're the actor in the family. I wouldn't know how to begin to try to pass myself off as an old lady, much less fool anybody into believing me in such a disguise!"

He regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. "All right. Scratch mother. That leaves sister or wife."

She blanched. "Wife… Oh no no no no. I've spent the majority of my life thinking of you as my uncle. I could never…! Oh my…!" And now she blushed absolutely crimson.

Artie burst out laughing and gathered her into a hug. "Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I might have a little trouble with such a role as playing your husband myself!" He grinned down at her. "Sister it is, then. Go on down the corridor there. You can borrow my stateroom to get changed. All right?"

"All right, Uncle Artie, but… may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Why do you have all these women's clothes on hand to assemble my disguise from?"

He paused, laughed, then tapped her on the nose and said, "Occupational secret, sweetheart!" And he shooed her down the corridor to get changed.

She returned shortly to find Uncle Artie laying out various items on the table. The extra clothing had been cleared away, replaced with a couple of towels and a basin of water. In addition, Artie had not only opened the small box to reveal his make-up kit within, but he had also secured for her a plain home-spun shawl as well as a small silver cross pendant on a simple chain necklace. "A few accessories to make you look suitably Irish," he said, then waved her to a seat at the table, seating himself across the corner from her. "Let's start with a clean canvas," he said, dipping the corner of one of the towels into the water and passing it to her.

"Clean? I don't wear make-up."

"I know, but the natural oils on your skin might interfere with what I'm going to do, so give your face a good scrubbing, all right?" And once she had done that, he said, "Now, you'll be my younger sister, but I'm going to make you look slightly older than you are." And he set about deepening the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and on either side of her mouth. "Don't worry about having to sound very Irish. Mike may have been born back home on the Auld Sod, but you were born here in the United States after the family immigrated." He worked in silence for a minute or so, then said, "And we need a name. Hmm… Bridget?"

She wrinkled her nose.

He chuckled. "Hey! Don't move the canvas on me while I'm creating! So you don't care for the name Bridget then? Hmm… Well, there's Kathleen… And of course Mary…" Then his face brightened and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, here's one! How about Siobhan?"

"ShuhVON?"

"It's Irish for Joan. Lovely old name! What do you think of it?"

"Well… I guess…"

"Fine. Siobhan it is. And the next question is whether you are married or not. Siobhan Murray? or Siobhan something else?"

"Well…" said Denise slowly, "it seems to me…"

"Aye, Siobhan me lass?"

His sudden switch to the Mike Murray character momentarily derailed her train of thought. "Oh - oh, I was just wondering why would a married woman be out and about with her brother in the wee hours of the morning?"

Artie nodded. "Oh, very good thinking, sweetie! Then you're my unmarried sister…" He frowned. "Or widowed? Hmm… no, let's stick with never-married. Widowed would be running a bit too close to the truth." He leaned back now, examined his work, then passed her the mirror. "How's that?"

She gasped in amazement and touched her own cheek gingerly. "Is… is this what I'll look like ten years from now?"

"Or fifteen. Possibly. So you like the effect?"

She looked up at his proudly grinning face and decided that now was as good a time as any. Clearing her throat first, she said, "Mike Murray, yer a dab hand at whatever y' do! Oh, an' what is it y' do fer a livin', eh?"

"Trash man, same as before. Not bad on the accent, Siobhan me lass. But remember: don't overdo it." He took up the necklace and fastened it around her neck, then put away the contents of the make-up kit while she arranged her shawl. "Oh," he added, "let's see your shoes."

They were sensible shoes, somewhat clunky, not a bit pretty. At the querying look he gave her, Denise responded, "They're for standing and teaching all day. Fairly comfortable."

"Well, they'll do for your disguise," said Artie. He went about turning down the lights. "Let's go."


	11. Act 3, Part 2

**Act Three, Part Two ~~~~**

The small wagon rocked gently along as it came up on one of the bridges over the Potomac into the city of Washington. For James West, however, the rocking, at three times normal speed, was anything but gentle. In addition he was still experiencing the queasiness brought on by the bug bite. He dealt with the nausea, his head down, his eyes closed and jaw clenched. By his side, little Missie watched over him, her fingers firmly in her mouth.

Lee kept glancing back at the pair. The man's condition had her worried. "Well, if Captain Sluggish there isn't drunk, Chip," she murmured, apparently talking to the horse pulling the wagon, "then what is wrong with him?"

At this point a small hand tugged at her sleeve. She looked at the little girl sitting beside the man. "Yes, honey? What is it?"

The child popped her fingers out of her mouth to say, "Unca Jim got bited."

"Bited - bit, you mean? He was bitten?" A nod. "What bit him?"

"A bug. A bad bug!"

The girl glanced at Jim, then leaned in closer to the child. "What kind of bad bug?" she asked.

"A _bad _bug. A weally bad nasty _awful _bug!"

Lee looked at Jim again, noting how he was quietly holding himself together. "I think," she said slowly, "I think he needs a doctor." She glanced at the child and added, "Problem is, the best doctor I knew passed on a few months back, and I don't know the area around Washington very well to know anybody I can take him to." Realizing she was talking too much, and glad that neither the girl nor the man was in a position to ask her awkward questions about what she meant, she added, "See, I'm new around here."

The wagon continued onward over the bridge and into the city. Lee kept her eyes peeled for any sign of a doctor's office, and to her great relief, she was shortly rewarded when she spotted a sign on the lawn in front of a large building they were about to pass.

"Hospital!" she exclaimed. "Well, would you look at that!" She reined up directly in front of the building, then hopped down and said to her passengers. "All right, here we are!" She lifted the little girl down, then gave the man a tap on the arm. "Mister?"

He opened his eyes and took in their surroundings. "Wwwhhhyyy aaarrreee wwweee hhheeerrreee?"

She jerked a thumb at the sign behind her. "Hospital. You're sick."

He shook his head. "III nnneeeeeeddd tttooo ssseeeeee Cccooolllooonnneeelll Rrriiiccchhhmmmooonnnddd," he said.

The girl frowned, listening intently. "Colonel? Did you say 'colonel'? But Colonel who?"

"Why, Mr West!" came a voice from behind her.

Jim looked up to see the same doctor who had escorted him to visit the housekeeper the previous afternoon.

"If you've come to ask Mrs Beecham some more questions, you're only just in time," said the doctor. "I've just now released her with a clean bill of health - though I would have waited for morning's light, but she insisted otherwise. A message has been sent to her employer's home to let them know she's done here, and she's waiting now for someone to come pick her up. Oh, but this has been a most curious case! Some four or five hours of systemic sluggishness, followed by a spontaneous return to full vigor - and no aftereffects! Simply astonishing! Well, I've not been home for a day and night, so if you'll excuse me…" And he put on his hat and began to stride away.

"Dr Feldstrom," said Jim, finally finding a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Feldstrom stopped in midstep, having heard West speak his name as "Dddoooccctttooorrr Fffeeellldddssstttrrrooommm." He spun and gaped at the Federal agent, his eyes lighting up. Another case to study! Hurrying to Mr West's side, the doctor doffed his hat again, grasped his new patient's chin and tilted his face up, peering at his eyes. He then barked out orders for the man to be taken to a room immediately and accompanied the orderlies as they whisked West away.

Lee found herself standing outside the entrance, holding hands with the little girl. Oh well. Someone needed to watch over the child, at least. "Come on," she said and led the toddler inside.

"Why, Missie!" Suddenly a large middle-aged woman with a face like a bulldog loomed up, arms open.

"Miz Beecham!" Missie squealed and leapt to hug her.

Then again… thought Lee. Stepping forward, she asked the child, "Do you know this lady?"

Missie gave a huge nod. "Dis Miz Beecham! She was gonna gimme apple, but den dere was a buzzin' and den da music lady took me away!"

Lee and Mrs Beecham stared at the little girl, then at each other. What on earth was the child saying?

"An' dis my new fwend!" Missie gabbled, now leaning out of the big woman's embrace to point at the young woman. Moments later, after introductions were done, Lee found herself sitting with Missie and Mrs Beecham, waiting for the ride to come pick up the housekeeper.

Except… Why was she even here? Lee wondered. Slapping her hands on her thighs, she bounded to her feet and said to the big woman, "Look, I have a wagon out front. Why don't you come on and I'll drive you and the little girl home right now?"

Mrs Beecham looked at the girl narrowly. After the events of the day, the housekeeper was not inclined to be particularly trusting of strangers, even if Missie seemed to like the girl tremendously. In addition, the girl's choice of manly attire thoroughly scandalized the older woman. "Oh no," said Mrs Beecham frostily. "I have sent for someone from the household, and Missie and I shall wait for them to take us home, thank you very much!"

"You're welcome," said Lee, a touch of amusement in her voice. She said her good-byes to the pair, then headed back outside under the waning moon. Coming up to her wagon, she petted the horse's neck and murmured, "All right, Chip. What were you thinking of? Why are we here?"

But if the horse replied, who would hear it? Who would know? Thoughtfully, Lee drove the wagon around behind the hospital, then went back inside the building to wait and see what would happen next.

…

West was becoming annoyed with Dr Feldstrom and his attendant. "III nnneeeeeeddd tttooo tttaaalllkkk tttooo Cccooolllooonnneeelll Rrriiiccchhhmmmooonnnddd!" he insisted.

"Yes, quite," Feldstrom responded, putting on his stethoscope. "Now kindly keep silent that I may listen to your respiration."

West put up with that, but as soon as the doctor took the stethoscope off again after calling out some numbers for the nurse to note down, Jim said again, "III nnneeeeeeddd tttooo ssspppeeeaaakkk tttooo Cccooolllooonnneeelll Rrriiiccchhhmmmooonnnddd!"

"Yes, yes," the doctor murmured, holding his patient's wrist. He reported more numbers to the nurse who wrote them on her pad.

"III nnneeeeeeddd tttooo ssspppeee…!" Jim was saying when abruptly the doctor popped a thermometer into his mouth.

That was enough for Jim. In slow motion he snatched the sealed glass tube out of his mouth, throwing it to the floor where it shattered. And as the doctor and nurse protested in their chipmunk voices, Jim took advantage of their distraction to relieve the nurse of her notepad and pencil. Turning to a fresh page, he wrote out a message for the colonel, tore it out, folded it, and wrote the colonel's name on the outside. He then shoved the piece of paper at the doctor.

"Really, Mr West!" Dr Feldstrom sputtered at him. "There's no call to…!" At this point he spotted the name written on the paper. "Oh, Colonel Richmond," he said. "Are you wanting this note to be delivered to Colonel Richmond?"

"Yyyeeesss!" said West. It was about time!

"Oh, but surely the colonel can wait, Mr West. We only have a limited time to study these symptoms, you know."

Jim shook his head firmly, and remembering a term he had picked up some time back, he deposited the note into the doctor's hand and said, "Ssstttaaattt!"


	12. Act 3, Part 3

**Act Three, Part Three ~~~~**

A knock sounded on Colonel Richmond's office door. "Come," he said, hoping for some good news in this long dark night.

The door opened. "A message for you, Colonel," said Keeley. He handed it over and had nearly closed the door again when the colonel called him back. "Good news at last! This is from Jim! He's at the hospital… the child is with him… Oh, and the mastermind is in fact Dr Loveless, who has - Great Scott! - some sort of mad plot in place to destroy every marble building in Washington! Keeley, have the contents of this message telegraphed to Gordon at the Wanderer at once! Perhaps we can catch him there before he sets out."

"Yes sir," said the secretary.

"And after you send the telegram, tell Mrs Sparrow…" The colonel glanced into the anteroom. "Why, where _is _Mrs Sparrow?"

"Oh, she left some time ago along with Mr Gordon. He offered her a spot on the Wanderer where she could sleep."

"Oh, I see. Well then, all the more reason to send this message on. Artemus doesn't need to rescue Jim, and Mrs Sparrow doesn't need to worry any longer about her little girl. Now we need to make plans to deal with Loveless. Tell Mr Gordon to meet us at the hospital where Jim is."

"Yes sir!"

Minutes later, however, Keeley was back. "Colonel, sir, we've tried several times to raise someone at the Wanderer, but there's no response."

Colonel Richmond thumped his desk in frustration. "Then Artemus has already started out on his mission! All right, he was going to check in with Pike at the site, so I need someone to deliver the message there. Who is available… Ah, Mr Henry!"

"Yes sir, Colonel Richmond, sir!" said the eager young Richard.

"Just one 'sir' is sufficient, Dick," said the colonel. Passing him the message, he added, "Godspeed, son."

…

"Mr Pike!"

Jeremy Pike turned from watching over that door they had found that led into the ground to see one of his junior agents approaching. "Yes, Evans?"

"Sir, one of the sentries has caught a pair of trespassers."

"Trespassers? Ah, let's have a look." Some of Loveless' confederates, perhaps?

Evans led the way to a man and woman. The woman smiled wanly at Pike's approach, looking exceedingly nervous. The man by contrast exuded confidence as he stepped forward, tugged at his forelock, then said, "The very tip-top o' the mornin' to y', sir! Mike Murray's the name. An' would y' be needin' yer trash hauled away, eh?"

Pike stared at the odd little brown man. Trash? A trash man showing up in the middle of a stake-out? There was something definitely fishy about this…

And then the trash man's squinty eye gave a spasm, and Pike gave a sigh. "Artie…"

Smiling with bland innocence, Mike Murray said, "Artie? Who's this Artie, eh?"

Pike turned to the young agent and informed him, "Evans my boy, you have been snookered. By one of the best, I might add. This man is not Mike Murray and he is not a trash man. He is none other than that grand master of fakery of the Secret Service, the one and only Artemus Gordon."

Evans dropped his jaw.

Pike turned his attention now to the woman. Smiling, he said, "But I don't believe we've met…"

Shedding his Mike Murray persona, Artemus quickly made the introductions, then asked, "Any sign of Loveless?"

"No."

"Or Jim?"

"Also no."

Taking Pike's arm, Artie moved him a bit away from Denise before asking, "And the little girl?"

"Artie, no one has come out of that door in the ground since we got here. I have my men scouting about for another entrance…"

"Good idea. Loveless usually does have some other way out."

"…but we haven't found anything yet. We'll keep looking. But Artie, what is _she _doing here?"

Artie gave him the short version and earned himself an incredulous stare.

"So…" said Pike, "you refuse to let any of us trained agents accompany you into Loveless' lair, but you're taking along your cousin?"

"For one thing, Jeremy, there are few things in this world to match a Gordon woman for sheer obstinacy. And for another thing - this is her child involved. And you know what they say about she-bears and their cubs."

Pike frowned. "I just hope you know what you're doing, Artie."

He nodded. "To tell you the truth, Jer, so do I."

…

Richard Henry set out eagerly on his errand to deliver the message from Mr West to Mr Gordon. He put the message into a messenger bag, then went to saddle a horse. Happily he rode off to complete his assignment.

It was only when he was about to cross the bridge over the Potomac into Virginia that he realized that while he had been saddling the horse, he had set down the messenger bag and left it behind. He now turned back to retrieve it.

…

Pike drew all his men back into the cover of the surrounding forest as Artie and his cousin moved stealthily toward the door in the ground. Artie first checked the door carefully for booby traps. Satisfied, he picked the lock, then quietly opened the door. He looked in, then nodded to her, mouthing, "Come on." He held the door for her as she slipped inside and down the steps. Then he followed, closing the door silently behind them.

They were in. Artie glanced around, picked a direction, and led the way.

It was a labyrinth down here. At every turning, Artie made a small note on the wall with a special pencil, marks which could only be seen through a pair of special glasses he produced from his pocket. "Here," he added, pressing something into Niecie's hand.

Denise looked at what he had given her. "Another pair of glasses?"

He nodded. "Two of us, two pairs, yes."

On they went, deeper and deeper into the lair. Artie listened at doors, opening some of them. They saw all sorts of odd equipment, including a large canister or tank sitting in the bed of a wagon. Several tubes led out from the canister, giving it a somewhat octopoid appearance. What it might be for, Artie could only guess.

On occasion he pulled her into a doorway or behind a stack of boxes to let someone walk by. They hadn't been spotted yet. So far so good.

Artie listened at yet another door, then eased it open to find a lab. Or was it perhaps a sitting room? The harpsichord in the corner certainly spoke to him of Antoinette. He and Niecie entered and looked around. Abruptly Artie stiffened, then hurried toward one wall, his cousin right behind him. He hunkered down by a pair of chains embedded in the wall, inspecting one of them. Gingerly he sniffed the open end of the shackle and smiled grimly. "This is Jim's work," he told her softly. "Eaten away by a special concoction compounded by Yours Truly. And this…" He rose and moved to the adjacent metal-barred cage. Within it were cushions, brightly-colored blankets, toys…

Niecie's eyes glowed red. "He kept Missie in _that?_" she hissed.

Artie raised a hand to hush her. Oh, but she was livid! "Kept," he whispered back. "Past tense. Look here." He pointed to the lock, blackened and sprung, lying on the floor in front of the cage. "Jim was here, being held captive. But he escaped and took Peanut with him." He looked around a bit more. "Ok, let's get out of here before anyone finds us." He moved to the door.

And then he froze, for the doorknob was turning!

Instantly Artie pushed Niecie to the hinge-side of the door, motioning once again for her to be silent, and adding a second gesture that told her unmistakably to get herself out of there. Artie then ran across the room and seated himself at the harpsichord where he began to play and sing in a drunken Irish lilt:

_One mornin' Tim was rather full  
His head felt heavy which made him shake,  
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull  
And they carried him home his corpse to wake._

In the midst of the song the door sprang open. In through the doorway walked the smallest full-grown man Denise had ever seen. The little man stopped dead in his tracks, his hand still on the knob, gaping at the stranger at the harpsichord singing away tipsily. The newcomer then stormed across the room to confront the drunk. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?"

Mike Murray smiled happily at the little man, interrupted his song just long enough to reply, "Finnegan's Wake," before continuing with:

_They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet  
And laid him out across the bed,  
With a gallon of whiskey at his feet  
And a barrel of porter at his head…_

"Stop that!" railed the little man. So focused was he on the stranger crooning away at the harpsichord that he didn't see the woman dart from behind the door and run away down the corridor

Mike's voice trailed off as he slowly stopped playing. "Y' don' care for Finnegan's Wake, eh? How 'bout Molly Malone then?" And he started off anew with:

_In Dublin's fair city,  
Where the girls are so pretty,  
I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone…_

…

Denise ran for it. She put on the special glasses Uncle Artie had passed to her and used them to read off the notes he had made on the walls, letting them guide her back toward the entrance. Shortly she could no longer hear his voice behind her. This worried her, but she sternly told herself that worry was a Gordon habit she needed to dispense with immediately.

She reached an intersection, read the note on the wall there, nodded to herself, and rounded the corner. Immediately she smacked face-first into a chest. The glasses fell from her face and shattered as she rebounded, then looked up.

All

the

way

up.

The photos Uncle Artie had shown her in Colonel Richmond's anteroom came back to her mind. A dwarf and a giant! This, yes, this was definitely the giant looming over her.

He frowned down. "Who are you?" came his voice, deep yet childlike. "And what are you doing here?"

She stared up at him, her mind eerily blank for a long moment. And then, recalling to herself who she was supposed to be, she declared, "Me name's Siobhan Murray. An' I'm lookin' fer me no-good, whiskey-swillin' brother, that I am!" Leaning closer, in an almost conspiratorial tone, she added, "Have y' seen 'im, eh?"

An immense hand took hold of her shoulder and started steering her back the way she had come.


	13. Act 3, Part 4

**Act Three, Part Four ~~~~**

The big man thrust his captive through the doorway back into the room she had fled from. "Dr Loveless," he said, "I found this girl roaming in the halls."

The little man was sitting on a mobile staircase alongside one of the lab counters, his arms folded, an extremely self-satisfied smile on his face. A woman Denise remembered from both that photo and the Morgans' home was now seated at the harpsichord playing softly, while another man whom Denise did not recognize was standing not very far from where…

Oh. From where Uncle Artie, still in full make-up as Mike Murray, was chained to the wall in the shackle that had not been ruined. His hands were behind his back - tied, she presumed - and he was looking at Denise blankly. There was not even the least flicker of recognition in his eyes.

"Ah, thank you, Voltaire," the little man said cheerily to the giant. "Well, well! _Two _unexpected visitors! What an embarrassment of riches! And who might you be, my dear?"

"Umm… I'm… I'm Siobhan Murray. Who're you?"

This elicited a chuckle from the little man. "I am Dr Miguelito Loveless. And this," he said with a wave of his long-fingered hands, "is my humble abode." The smile vanished from his face in an instant. "In which you, my dear young woman, are trespassing." His eyes glittered like steel. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Glancing up at Voltaire who was still standing behind her, she gave the little doctor the same answer she had given to the giant a few minutes earlier. "I'm lookin' fer me no-good, whiskey-swillin' brother. An' the man's poor wife Mary Margaret, sittin' at home with all them little ones, an' me brother off till all hours, who knows where, drinkin' up 'is wages, leavin' 'is family wit' hardly a crust o' bread to…"

She trailed off, realizing that the woman at the harpsichord was now smirking, having segued into Tchaikovsky's "None but the Lonely Heart." And Loveless was chuckling. "Oh, how tragic!" he said in mock melancholy. "And how many poor starving children might that be, _Mike?_"

Artie, sitting quietly on the floor in his waist-shackle, paused a bit, then said the single word, "Six."

"Six! My, what a cad you are, sir!" said Loveless, laughing. "All those poor, poor children!" He turned now to the supposed Siobhan and asked, "But why haven't you run to your dear brother there, Miss Murray? To your dear foolish sot of a brother?"

Denise stared at the little man. There was something about him. He was like a snake or a panther waiting to strike. She turned another glance at Uncle Artie. His face was telling her nothing. The one word he had spoken had been too brief for her to discern whether he was still in accent. Had Loveless twigged to Uncle Artie or not? She was going to have to gamble…

Drawing herself up to her full height, she turned back to Dr Loveless, looked him dead in the eye, and declared, "Him? I ain't never seen that fella before in all me born days!"

The fury and consternation in Loveless eyes told her she'd picked the right answer - for now, at least. In a rage, the little doctor turned to Artie and growled, "Mr Gordon! How is it then that you are here and _she _is here, with you claiming to be this girl's idiot brother? Rather a large coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

Artie, with a hangdog look on his face, said, "I happened to run into the real Mike Murray. I had no idea his sister would show up."

Denise, throwing herself into the character with abandon, cried out, "What? Pretendin' t' be me brother, are y'? How dare y'!" And she stormed over to him, glaring at him.

But as soon as she had her back fully to all the others in the room, she made pleading eyes at him, plainly asking wordlessly, What do we do now?

"Mr Clancy," said Loveless, and the third minion, the silent one, came over and pulled Denise away from the prisoner. Loveless continued with, "But what is truly curious about this whole matter is the fact that you are _alive_, Mr Gordon. I had understood that you were quite, quite dead. Killed by my own men earlier this evening. Drowned in the Potomac, in fact. How do you account for this discrepancy?"

Artie shrugged. "Rumors of my death are somewhat premature, it seems," he responded.

"And to think, Voltaire, that I had you, ah, discipline the men whom we believed had compassed Mr Gordon's death." He made a tsking noise, then shrugged as well. "Hardly a waste though. They were, after all, a pair of fools."

"Yes, you do have remarkable taste in henchmen," Artie observed dryly.

The silent minion strode over and backhanded the chained agent hard. Artie rolled with the blow, but a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth anyway.

Denise gasped out, "Un…!" then stuffed her hand in her mouth.

"Now, now, Mr Clancy! We mustn't be so thin-skinned!" Loveless scolded. Turning then to the purported Irish girl, he added, "Something you wanted to say, my dear?"

She shook her head. "No. No sir. Only 'tis a wrong-hearted thing t' be hittin' a man what's all chained up."

Loveless smiled thinly. "And now the poor man's bleeding." He looked Siobhan Murray in the eye for a very long time, then waved a hand at an empty basin on the counter near him and issued the invitation of, "You have my permission to fill this with water and wash Mr Gordon's wounds if you so desire, Miss Murray."

Denise couldn't help wondering if this was a trap, but she nodded, "Thank y', doctor, sir," and did as he suggested. As she knelt by Uncle Artie's side and cleaned away the blood, she whispered to him, "And?"

He only responded, loudly, with, "Thank you very much, Miss Murray."

"Well," said Loveless, "it truly is serendipitous that you should put in an appearance, Mr Gordon. Mr West was here earlier." And the little man began to snicker, then chuckle, then chortle loudly. "Oh, and he is so predictable! Of course, as are you, Mr Gordon. But I exhibited myself before Mr West, gloating, boasting over a plan with which to bring the august city across the river to its knees. I subsequently gave him the opportunity to escape. And he did! I'm sure he's in Washington even as we speak, expounding upon my plan to the redoubtable Colonel Richmond. Or at least…" and he began to laugh again, "trying to…"

"What's he talking about?" Niecie whispered to Uncle Artie. But he merely replied with the slightest shake of his head. Considering how much Loveless loved to brag of his genius, Artie was sure the explanation would be shortly forthcoming. In the meantime, Artie had surreptitiously eased a penknife out of the back of his waistband and was now stealthily sawing at the ropes that were binding his wrists.

Loveless, grinning proudly, said, "Ah yes, you are resorting to the same little ruse Mr West insisted on practicing against me: indifference! But, oh, he took the bait I dangled before him readily enough." A pause. "Surely you wish to know what that bait was, Mr Gordon?"

Artie gave a shrug. The first strand of the rope was parting.

"Do not play games with me, Mr Gordon!" the little doctor bellowed. He leapt from his seat, clambered down the steps of his mobile staircase, and marched over to glare at his prisoner. "You think you're so clever, Mr Gordon, and you know nothing at all!" Loveless sneered, folding his arms across his chest. "I showed Mr West a scientific experiment." With a grin and a sidelong look, he added, "But perhaps you would like to see the demonstration for yourself." And Loveless strolled back to his set of stairs, climbed up, and prepared the same chemical as before. He then dribbled it on a similar block as before, and stepped back to let Mr Gordon have an unobstructed view.

Artie gaped for a moment. "But you can't do that to marble!" he exclaimed. "That would have to be one of the strongest acids known to man to decompose marble so quickly. The fumes alone…" He sat back then. "Oh. I get it. That wasn't really a block of marble, was it?"

Loveless chortled gleefully. "No, Mr Gordon, it wasn't. It was merely a bit of sponge painted to look like marble. Very good, sir! You get top marks for your knowledge of chemistry." He laughed harder. "But it fooled Mr West! I told him…" He was now laughing so hard he could barely bring out the words. "…I told him I would, he he! I would load the chemical into a, ha ha! into an atomizer and, and spray it throughout the streets of Washington…"

He all but fell off his mobile platform, so racked with merriment was he. Gradually he laughed himself out, then regarded his chained prisoner once more, blue eyes glittering.

"Well, Mr Gordon, apparently either Mr West hasn't the knowledge of chemistry that you do…" and Loveless gave a huge grin, "…or else he has far more faith in my scientific genius than you do. For when he escaped - which he did with alacrity, I might add - he took with him samples of the chemicals I had mixed for my demonstration." He indulged himself in more chuckling. "But that isn't the only thing he took with him. He also carried away a little bite - from this!" He whipped from his pocket a small container and held it up in triumph.

"A match box bit him?" Artie deadpanned.

"Oh, don't be dense, Mr Gordon! It isn't becoming to you. Of course I do not mean that the box bit him, but rather," and the grin was spreading across his face again, "the contents of the box. Listen!" He shook the box and a wild buzzing sound emanated from within. "Do you hear that? More importantly, do you know what it is?"

Antoinette pulled a similar box from the little reticule pinned at the waist of her dress and shook it as well. The buzzing sound increased dramatically.

Artie looked up at them blandly. Whether he knew what was producing the noise or not was of no importance. Loveless was getting into full brag mode now; in moments he would answer his own question, with or without Artie's input. In the meantime, behind his back and unbeknownst to anyone but himself, the second strand parted.

Yes, sure enough… "This, Mr Gordon, is the result of my ingenious manipulation of the building blocks of Nature itself. A breakthrough of immense scientific importance! And," he added, once more all but dissolving into maniacal laughter, "the instrument of your doom. And of course, of Mr West's demise as well."

"Yeah?" said Artie insolently. "You always do have a misplaced, overblown confidence in your own silly little plans."

Loveless' eyes bulged in anger. "Silly! Why, you infuriating…! I'll show you how silly my plans are, Mr Gordon! Mr Clancy! Come here!" The minion, a bit nonplused, hurried over to his boss's side. "Now, Mr Gordon, if you will attend!" Loveless held up the little box again. "You will observe that this box is separated into two sections. That is because what I have within it comes in two varieties: slow and fast. Your hand, Mr Clancy." The little doctor held out his own hand, palm up. When Clancy did not stretch forth his hand fast enough, Loveless glared at the henchman and snapped his fingers at him. "I said, your hand, Mr Clancy!"

A worried look on his face, Clancy hesitantly reached out his hand. Loveless snatched the hand, held it fast, then flipped open a small hatch on the side of his little box. Immediately a buzzing sound filled the room as one tiny mote came forth from the box and settled…

"Ow!" yelped Clancy. "Aw, c'mon, doc! Whaatt ddiiddd yyyooouuu dddooo ttthhhaaattt fffooorrr?"

Beaming proudly, Loveless turned to his captive and said, "You see? That was the slow variety. One bite from that little bug - and one bite, sadly, is all each bug gives, as it dies immediately afterward - one bite, and almost instantaneously the victim of the bite undergoes a systemic change of metabolism. Every system of his body is now operating at just one-third of normal speed!" With an exceedingly broad grin, he said, "Utterly amazing, isn't it?" Again he shook the little box. "I call them my Time Flies."

Behind him at the harpsichord, Antoinette laughed, gave her own little box a toss in the air, caught it, then tucked it away again in her reticule.

"Again observe, Mr Gordon." And now Loveless flipped open the other hatch on the box. A higher pitched buzz filled the room, and Clancy yelped in slow-motion: "Ooowww! Dddaaannnggg iiittt, dddooocc, tthhaatt hhuurrttss! Ccaann'tt yyoouu ppick on somebody else?"

Again Loveless beamed at Artemus. "And _voilà! _The fast bug has returned him to normal speed. Had he not been bitten first by the slow bug, however, he would now be amazing us by moving and speaking at a speed fully triple - triple! - that of normal! Of course, the effects of the slow bug, and for that matter, of the fast one, would wear off on their own in, oh, four or five hours. But," and a gleam crept into his eye, "there is one more effect of my beautiful Time Flies that you simply must see, Mr Gordon."

And once more the doctor flipped open a hatch on the little box of Time Flies. Once more a buzzing filled the air. Once more Mr Clancy jumped and yelped as for a third time a bug bit him.

And then Clancy shuddered all over. In less than a second, he toppled over and lay stretched out on the floor, where his breathing ceased.

"You see?" Loveless cried in delight. "That is the other effect that makes my Time Flies the ultimate weapon! For if someone is bitten by the _same _kind of Time Fly twice within twenty-four hours - whether two of the fast or two of the slow - _that person dies_. It is instantly fatal. And you see, Mr Gordon, when Mr West left here, he took with him a souvenir of my genius. For just as he was leaving, he was bitten by one of my slow Time Flies!"

Loveless laughed and laughed. Gesturing to his giant, he said, "Voltaire, do remove the debris, hmm?" And as Voltaire carried poor Clancy away, the little doctor, beaming, continued to watch Mr Gordon for any reaction. He was disappointed in this, however, for Artie kept his expression firmly neutral as he met the doctor's eyes steadily.

Loveless then turned his gaze to the young woman kneeling by Artie's side, her back to the rest of the room. A grim slow smile spreading across his face, the little doctor said casually, "And when Mr West left, moving so very slowly, he also took away from here, much to my relief, that horrendous little brat I had Antoinette abduct for me."

Denise was wiping a fresh trickle of blood from the corner of Uncle Artie's mouth as Loveless said this. Artie saw her stiffen; he saw the blaze of fury ignite in her eyes to hear her daughter referred to as a brat. Quickly he gave again that minute shake of his head. Her lips tightened, but she obeyed and said nothing.

"What a terrible child!" Loveless went on. "She did nothing but scream and scream and scream! The only respite was when she finally fell asleep."

"Really?" said Artie. "She was sweet as pie with me. Must have been the company that disagreed with her."

"Ah, Mr Gordon. You and your indefatigable wit!" Loveless smiled tightly at him, plainly not amused in the least. "In point of fact," he added presently, "it was instead the _lack _of company that the child objected to so. Her incessant crying was in pleas to be reunited with her mother." And almost to himself, Loveless appended, "I suppose I should have had the mother kidnapped as well."

Denise was very glad her back was turned to that little monster. For that matter, Artie was glad Niecie's face was not in Loveless' line of sight either. She certainly resembled a she-bear at this moment.

"You see, Mr Gordon," Loveless went on, "I had in mind to use the child against you, believing her to be your own."

Denise's eyes went wide. His own? What was that supposed to mean? Oh, surely the horrible little man wasn't thinking that… that she and her uncle… Ugh! A sick look came over her face.

Hoping he was keeping better control over his face than she was hers, Artie, almost afraid to ask, said, "My own? My own what?"

"Oh, your Mr West disabused me of that notion! I had believed Mrs Sparrow to be your paramour. How silly of me! When it's obvious, now that I see the pair of you together, that it is not Missie but Mrs Sparrow herself who is your daughter. Isn't that right, Miss Murray?"

Denise froze. She stared into Uncle Artie's face and said nothing, for her voice had entirely abandoned her.

Loveless spoke again, this time quite gently. "Come, come, my dear. The game is over and you have lost. Turn around now." And when she did not obey immediately, he stamped his foot. "I said turn and face me now!"

"Go on," said Uncle Artie softly.

So she did. Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet the mad doctor's and found that he was studying her. For a long moment, no one spoke.

At length Loveless said, "You are aware, are you not, Mr Gordon, that among my many accomplishments, I am a sculptor. As such, I make it a habit to study faces. She has your face, Mr Gordon. The coloration, yes, but also the eyes, the eyebrows, the nose, the chin, the jaw line. Younger, of course, and more feminine." He gave the merest touch of a laugh. "But she looks just like you. Did you really think I would look at her and not see in an instant that you are her father?"

They were both gaping at him with stunned looks on their faces. Slowly they turned and stared at each other. And suddenly the girl snickered. This set off Artie and he began chuckling. In mere moments the pair had dissolved into gales of laughter. The girl stuffed her hands over her mouth, taking them down only long enough to blurt out, "Oh my! That'll be quite a surprise for Papa!"

"And an even bigger surprise for your mother!" Artie agreed, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

Loveless was gaping at the two, horrified. They were _laughing? _How dare they! "Stop that!" he ordered. "Stop it at once!"

But it wasn't that easy for them to stop. Finally Artie managed to say, "You really think she looks that much like me? I always thought the relative she resembles the most is our Great-Aunt Maude!"

This set Denise off all over again.

Loveless was significantly less than amused by now. Holding up the little box, he gave it a shake, then smiled in satisfaction as the sudden angry buzzing of the Time Flies took all the whimsy out of his two captives.

"Ah, Voltaire," he said as his giant reentered the room. "Just go over there and bring Mrs Sparrow here to me."

"What do you want with her?" Artie demanded, at the same moment that Voltaire turned his broad and puzzled face to his master and said, "Mrs Sparrow? I thought she said her name was Miss Murray."

Impatiently, Loveless snapped, "Yes, she did say that. But she _lied_; she's really Mrs Sparrow, the mother of that insufferable screaming brat and the daughter of our own Mr Gordon here. And as for what I want with her…" he added, grinning at Gordon. He shook the box once more and said, "Surely you can figure that out, hmm?"

"That's what I thought," said Artie. To the amazement of all, his right arm made a sudden appearance, no longer tied, as he threw a shiny silvery orb freshly plucked from his waistband at the trio of Loveless, Voltaire, and Antoinette. The glass ball shattered, releasing a rapidly expanding cloud of magenta mist. A moment later, as those three dissolved into spates of coughing, Artie's other hand came forward holding a small wad of putty. He took it in both hands, stretched it out with a snap, then quickly wrapped it around the chain that connected the shackle encircling his waist to the wall behind him. Two seconds later there came a _whuff _as the putty ignited, burning instantaneously through the chain.

Artie leapt to his feet, snatching Niecie to hers as well, and they dodged the flailing Voltaire as they ran from the room, down the corridor, around a corner, and out of sight.

"Ok," said Uncle Artie, once again pressing something into her hand. "Take these and find your way out. As far as I know, I left the door to the outside unlocked. Get out there and tell Mr Pike everything; he'll need to get that information on to Colonel Richmond as quickly as possible."

She looked at what he had given her and protested, "But these are your special glasses."

"I know," he said.

"But won't you need them?" she persisted. "And for that matter, what do you mean by _me _finding my way out? _You'll_ be leading us out of here, won't you?"

He shook his head. "No, sweetie. Assuming that Loveless boasted of his real plan this time, I still have some work to do down here."

"But what are you going to…?"

"Shh. Go on, Niecie. While you go out and pass my message on to Mr Pike, I'm going to try to find the rest of Loveless' Time Flies and get rid of them."

And he had a pretty good idea where to look, he thought, as she ran off in one direction and he in another.

…

Loveless was furious. Still coughing, he peered through the smoke, demanding, "Where are they? Oh, that despicable Secret Service man! Where did they go?"

"I don't know, Dr Loveless," Voltaire replied, coughing as well.

"Oh!" the little doctor railed. "Darn him! Darn, darn, _darn _him! Voltaire! Search for him! Search everywhere! And Antoinette, my lovely…"

"Yes, Miguelito?"

"Get the minions together. We leave for Washington at once! And, my dear…"

"Yes, Miguelito?"

He smiled toothily. "Don't forget our beekeepers' uniforms. We shall certainly need them, my dear Antoinette! Oh yes, we certainly shall!" And he began to laugh once again, long and loud and maniacally.

**~ End of Act Three ~**


	14. Act 4, Part 1

**Act Four, Part One ~~~~**

"Time Flies, huh?" Jeremy Pike frowned and pulled at his chin. "No offense, Mrs Sparrow, but if this weren't Loveless we're talking about, I'd dismiss this whole business as nothing but malarkey."

"I saw what the flies did to that one poor man," she said quietly.

"Yes ma'am, I'm sure you did. And as this _is _Loveless involved, I'm suspending my skepticism. Now, you say Artie stayed behind?"

"To do some sabotage, yes."

Pike smiled. "Oh, that sounds like Artie all right." He glanced up as one of his men hurried over. "Hmm? Yes, Evans?"

"Mr Pike, a messenger has just arrived from the colonel."

And here came Richard Henry, his face flushed with pride at the importance of his mission. "Mr Pike, sir!" he all but saluted. He reached into his messenger bag, felt around inside it, then began rummaging madly through it, his face stricken. The poor lad nearly stuck his whole head inside the bag before he finally, with a great sigh of relief, found the message and handed it over.

Pike read it. "Well! It seems that Jim and the little girl have made it back to Washington safely." He glanced at Mrs Sparrow, whose delight and relief were written over her entire being. "He mentions the marble-melting chemical here," Pike went on, "so the colonel needs to be informed about the rest of Loveless' scheme." He looked at Denise. "Now, the little doctor didn't happen to drop any hints as to who might be the target he plans to use these Time Flies against, did he?"

She shook her head. "No sir. Well, except that he said they would be Uncle Artie's doom and," she tried to think of the exact words, "and would, uh, bring about the demise of James West."

Pike snorted. "Yeah, he always does like to target Jim and Artie! But who else is in danger from his happy little bugs?" He thought for a minute, then said, "Mrs Sparrow, I'd like to ask you to go tell Colonel Richmond everything you saw and heard in Loveless' lair. All right? And Mr Henry, would you kindly escort Mrs Sparrow to see the colonel?"

"Yes sir, Mr Pike, sir!" said young Richard enthusiastically.

"One 'sir' at a time is a gracious plenty there, Dick," Pike said, clapping the eager young fellow on the shoulder. "Now off you go."

Richard led the way back to his horse, mounted up, then gave Denise a hand up to settle her behind him. Excited to be messenger once again, young Mr Henry hollered, "Gee up!" and wheeled his horse to take them back to Washington.

…

In another part of the forest some distance away, a pair of Pike's men were searching for the lair's backdoor. The night was still full dark, but the waning moon shed enough light to cast stark shadows spearing out from the trunks of the trees.

"Hey!" one called to the other after a while. "Look at this!"

The second joined the first. "Whatcha got?"

The first one pointed at the ground. "That look like wagon tracks to you?"

The second hunkered down, the stock of his rifle propped on the ground. "Yeah, they might be." He glanced left and right along the direction of the slight impression in the ground. Pointing off one way, he said, "That's a mighty clear shot through the woods…"

"Yeah, and…" the other pointed as well, "it joins up with a narrow road just beyond that stand of trees there."

They both turned to look the opposite way, back into the forest, then exchanged a glance. "Kind of suspicious-looking hill there, wouldn't you say?" said one to the other. Hefting their rifles, they started for the hill.

A strange sound, like running horses but far too fast, alerted them that something was coming. Both men dove for cover.

A copse of bushes along the side of that uncanny hill uprooted itself, swinging upward. From under the opening door into the hill burst forth two wagons, moving faster than the two agents had ever seen anything drawn by horses move. The lead wagon, in the split second the men had to study it, seemed to be full of men. And the other…

"What was that thing, anyway?"

"I don't know. Looked kind of like… say, the pump on a fire wagon?"

"Hey!"

Something had detached from the undercarriage of the trailing wagon as it turned onto the road beyond the trees. That something went rolling and bumping along the forest track, coming to an eventual halt in a crumpled heap on the ground.

One of the agents thumped the other on the arm. "That's a man!" And they both took off running toward the inert form lying on the ground. They stopped a couple of yards away and aimed their rifles at him. "Mister?" one of them called out.

There was a groan in reply.

Well, he wasn't dead then. "You're under arrest!"

"Better than being under that wagon," came the response.

The pair exchanged looks again. There was something familiar about… "Mister, what's your name?"

The figure sat up and held his head for a moment as if afraid it might fall off. Then, apparently satisfied that it was still firmly in place, he looked up at the two men holding rifles on him. He reached up to his face and peeled something off his nose, wriggled the nose a bit, then said, "Well, _your _name is Clayton Hale. And yours is, uh, Billy… Billy Ray Tanner. Right?"

They frowned at each other. "Yeah…"

"As for me," said their prisoner, "for a while tonight I was Mike Murray. But now I might as well revert to being Artemus Gordon."

"Mr Gordon!" Instantly the rifles were withdrawn and Hale offered a hand to help him up.

Once Artie was upright and somewhat dusted off, the questions began. He held up his hands, quelling them. "Boys, we need to go report in to Mr Pike."

"Yes sir. Only… where're those wagons off to in such an all-fired hurry anyway, huh?"

"That," said Artie, "is what I was hanging on to the underside of that wagon for, to try to find out. But the thing was moving so fast and bouncing so hard, I couldn't keep my grip."

Tanner gave a low whistle. "Yeah, them's the fastest draft horses I ever saw! You'd think something was bitin' 'em, to make 'em move that fast."

"Yeah," Artie echoed, "biting 'em." He then added, "Which way to Pike?" and the pair set out leading the way back to the camp.

…

The trip to Washington in the wagons was astonishingly rapid. Most of the minions were hanging on to the sideboards of the wagon bed, eyes wide, jaws slack, tongues tied. It seemed like no time at all before they were rattling across the bridge over the Potomac and into the city.

"Stop!" cried Dr Loveless. "Stop, stop, stop!"

The driver of his wagon reined up, leading the other teamster to do the same. Loveless sprang to his feet, pointing ahead of them at a horse being ridden double. A man was in front, and behind him was a woman dressed in a rust-colored skirt and bright yellow blouse.

"There she is!" Loveless growled in a fury. "Oh! I was cheated! I've long wanted Mr West to see Mr Gordon die before his eyes - and once I succeeded. And now I had someone for Mr Gordon to see die before _his _eyes! But he cheated me of that! I will not be cheated again!" He eyed his henchmen in the wagon bed. "Mr Rafe! Take two men and capture Mrs Sparrow, then bring her to me. You know where I will be."

"Yeah, Boss." Rafe chose his men and out they hopped. Immediately the two wagons set off again at incredible speed.

"All right. Which way'd she go?" said Rafe. And the trio set forth to trap a Sparrow.

…

Artie read the note Pike handed to him and nodded. "Well, that's good to know. And you sent Niecie on to speak to the colonel?"

"Yep," said Jeremy. He waved a hand toward the door they'd been watching. "So all the birds have flown, huh?"

"As far as I could tell, yes," said Artie.

Pike nodded. "Not a bad idea to have a look though," he said. Summoning a few men, he instructed them to enter the lair and make a thorough sweep of the place. "And be careful!" he added.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when there came a muffled _whump_.

"What was that?"

With a grim look, Artie said, "I bet I know." He hurried to the entrance to the lair and cautiously laid the back of his hand on the metal door, then snatched his hand away again. "It's hot!" he called.

Pike frowned, his fists planted on his hips. "Hmph. Rigged it to burn, did he? And on a time-delay, hoping to trap some of my men inside." He shook his head, then looked around. "Well, don't see much point in us hangin' around out here any longer. Hale, you and Tanner stay here and keep an eye out for anything else happening. And the rest of you - let's load up and head back to Headquarters."

…

"Where'd she go?" Rafe said again after a bit.

Both his men shrugged, and Banjo grumbled, "Y'know, if the Boss wasn't so dern long-winded, we coulda been right on 'er tail 'fore she got a chance to up an' disappear so fast!"

"Hey, Rafe," said Finn. "Ain't that her?" He pointed at a building down the street with a sign out front identifying it as a hospital.

"Hot diggety, we found her!" exulted Rafe. "All right, boys, we'll cover all the exits an' wait fer her to come back out. An' give a hoot when she does." And they rushed to get themselves into position.

…

Richard Henry held the door for Mrs Sparrow to enter the hospital, then continued to hold the door as an old man came out. The old-timer tugged at the brim of his cap and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "_Danke_," he said affably. "_Danke, mein Herr. Gute Nacht… ach, nein, guten __**Tag!**_" and he pointed eastward to where the sky was just beginning to lighten. He paused, then gave a special smile to Mrs Sparrow, touching his cap once more. "_Meine Fraulein_."

Young Richard chuckled as the old fellow shambled off. "Funny old geezer, still trying to charm the ladies!" And escorting Mrs Sparrow, Richard inquired of the young man sitting at the desk in the foyer for the directions to Mr West's room.

Outside, the little old German went wandering off, turned a corner, then paused to bring out a cigarette. He lit it, holding it not between his first two fingers as an American would, but between thumb and forefinger in the European fashion. Pensively he puffed on it, then took it from his lips and whispered, "Very interesting…"

His sharp eyes had not failed to notice the three disreputable characters approaching the hospital. They had split up to surround the building, he saw. And the young man who had held the door for him - that man was known to be a Secret Service agent. The young woman with the agent he had not recognized, but he made it a policy always to smile at a lady. Women, after all, were good sources of information, the same as men. Leaning up against the wall that encircled the hospital grounds, he turned a number of fresh puzzle pieces over in his mind. So many rumors this night!

Word had reached him an hour or so past midnight of a large group of Secret Service agents being sent over to Virginia, apparently to keep guard over what amounted to a hole in the ground. Still later had come the note from Schwimmer informing him of a new case at the hospital just like the first one earlier in the day. Schwimmer had implored him to come in person. And so Vogel had donned a gray wig, powdered his moustaches and goatee, then ventured forth in his usual disguise of Fritzi Drossel, a harmless doddering old immigrant with still an eye for the ladies.

Schwimmer's information had been gold; the new case at the hospital was none other than the well-known James West! The head of the Secret Service himself had arrived shortly afterwards for the two of them to consult together. And so, through careful observations made while seemingly wandering and lounging aimlessly in the hospital corridor, Vogel had picked up more information, information he found disturbing. He continued to think it all over, leaning against the perimeter wall, smiling mindlessly, puffing on his cigarette, and keeping watch, incidentally, for any sign of the members of that odd trio to make a reappearance.

A substance that could melt marble! He was not sure if such a thing were even possible. But from what he had gathered, Mr West had seen it work with his own eyes. And it was to be loaded into an atomizer to spread the mist throughout the city.

Vogel shook his head. The Embassy was within the city. And a chemical would be apolitical; it would not reach the wall surrounding the Embassy and say to itself, "Ah! Beyond this wall is foreign soil upon which I may not trespass!" No, the chemical, if indeed it existed, would waft onto the Embassy grounds to melt that edifice the same as every other marble building in Washington.

If it existed.

Vogel wrestled with the issue a bit longer. Then he crushed out his cigarette, produced a small notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket, and wrote out a note. He would go immediately to the Embassy and have this note delivered to the Ambassador, in which he encouraged that all Embassy personnel be evacuated to Baltimore until further notice.

And then… What? What would he himself do then? Where would the next scene in tonight's drama be staged?

Ah… There was a saying he had heard, an Americanism: Who is minding the store?

Who indeed, thought Vogel.

Moments later, old Fritzi Drossel ambled off into the gathering dawn.


	15. Act 4, Part 2

**Act Four, Part Two ~~~~**

The young man at the desk in the foyer gave Richard Henry the directions to the proper room, and the young agent hurried Mrs Sparrow down the hall. They entered to find that Colonel Richmond was already there, exchanging notes with Jim using the pad and pencil Jim had confiscated from the nurse earlier. The nurse was quietly blending into the background, but Dr Feldstrom was hovering near Jim, still trying to get in the tests he wanted to make on his extraordinary patient, consulting his pocket watch frequently and fretting aloud that time was running out. West and the colonel freely ignored him as they went about discussing the case and making their plans.

And then Denise's report from Artie changed everything.

Richard Henry was pressed into service as secretary, writing down all that was said to pass to Jim for him to be able to follow the discussion. After Jim received the pad and read of what Artie had learned in Loveless' lair, he wrote out the question, "How do you know Loveless was not lying about his plans?"

"Oh!" said Denise after Richard read that note aloud. "I… I don't know."

"Well, he's obviously lying about _something_," said the colonel thoughtfully. "And yet it's also possible that Loveless is lying about both those plans and has something else entirely in mind to spring upon Washington."

"Oh, dear!" said Denise.

"Well, if I may," put in Dr Feldstrom, "there is one thing about which I know the man is not lying: the duration of the incapacitation. Four to five hours does answer to the length of time Mrs Beecham was affected."

There was a pause as Richard transcribed the most recent bits of conversation and passed the pad to Jim, who responded after reading it with, "Then I should be coming out of this soon."

"I certainly hope so, Jim," said the colonel. He stood a while in thought, then added, "Now if you'll excuse us, Dr Feldstrom, Mrs Sparrow, Nurse, I believe the rest of this discussion should be concluded between Mr West and me in private. Richard, please escort the doctor, nurse, and Mrs Sparrow out."

Feldstrom immediately protested, pressing his case that he had never finished taking the patient's vitals and that this was an extraordinary medical phenomenon that absolutely _must _be studied. Meanwhile, Denise blurted out, "But where's Missie?"

"Excuse me?"

"Missie. The note Mr Henry brought to Mr Pike said that Missie is here at the hospital, but where is she? I haven't seen her yet."

"Ah… To tell you the truth, Mrs Sparrow," said Colonel Richmond, "I haven't seen your daughter either. When I arrived, I came straight to this room to speak with Jim. Dr Feldstrom, do you know?"

He shook his head. "No. Once I saw that Mr West was afflicted with the same mysterious malady as Mrs Beecham before him, I had him brought… Mrs Beecham!" He clicked his fingers.

"Oh! Our housekeeper! Is she all right?"

"Fit as a fiddle and then some," he replied. "I was just discharging her from the hospital when Mr West arrived. Perhaps your daughter is with her."

"Oh, that would be marvelous! I'll go see. Good night then," she nodded to everyone in the room. "Or, well, I suppose it is good morning already, isn't it?" She slipped from the room and headed off to find her little girl, hurrying quickly to the front entrance. "Excuse me," she said to the young man at the desk in the foyer, "but would you know if…?"

"I can't give out any information," he said brusquely.

"You most certainly can! You told Mr Henry where to find Mr West!"

"I can't give out any information," he repeated.

"But all I need to know is…"

"I already told you that I can't give out any information," he said testily. "Something wrong with your hearing?"

"No. Is there something wrong with your manners?"

"Look, lady…!"

After nearly a full day's worry over her child, the she-bear in Denise Sparrow was wide awake and in possession of not the least lick of patience. Glaring at the officious dunce, she said, "No, you look! All I need to know is whether my little girl is still here. Her name is Missie Spa…"

"Is she a patient?"

"No."

"Then I wouldn't know a thing." And he turned his back on her. Half a minute later, he turned back to find her still standing there, still glaring at him. "Look, lady…" he began anew, but she cut him off once more.

"She might have been in the company of a Mrs Beecham, who _was _a patient here. Dr Feldstrom had discharged her and…"

He waved her away. "I know nothing of either of them." And once again he turned his back on her.

"Oh!" Whirling on her heel, Denise stormed out of the hospital and stood outside on the porch in the chill of the morning. "How _rude!_" she muttered to herself, folding her arms in disgust. But where was Missie now? she fretted, and where was she to find someone who would know where her little girl was?

"Can I help?" a voice asked.

Denise glanced around and found that a young woman dressed in work pants was standing nearby, her long dark hair pulled back into a simple pony tail. "Who are you?" Denise demanded of her, then added, "Oh, I… I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I'm rather snappish just now and not fit company to be around at all."

"Oh, don't worry about that. You can call me Lee," the young woman replied. Jerking her head toward the door, she said, "I was inside just now and heard that twerp giving you a hard time. You were asking about Missie and Mrs Beecham?"

Puzzled by the word twerp, Denise had been about to ask what it meant when the girl's question nudged everything else out of her mind. "Oh! Oh, yes, I was! Can you tell me anything about them? Do you know where they are?"

Lee grinned. "I sure can and do! A carriage came by and picked them up maybe half an hour ago. Mrs Beecham said it was going to take them home."

"Home!" Denise relaxed happily. "Home. Mrs Beecham took her home. Oh, how wonderful!"

"So… you're the little girl's mother?" Lee led Denise back into the foyer and found them a couple of chairs to sit in.

"Yes, I'm Mrs Sparrow. Denise Sparrow," she replied, and then as she sank into the chair the whole of the story began to pour out of her. Ah, but it was such a relief at last to have the horrible events behind her now! And as she related all that had happened, Lee sat and listened to her - and listened all the more attentively as soon as Denise made mention of her Uncle Artie.

…

After Mrs Sparrow left on her own without an escort, Richard gestured politely to the nurse, who nodded and left quietly. The doctor, by contrast, was not nearly so amenable. "Oh no!" Feldstrom protested. "This is my hospital and my patient! I won't be forced out!"

"Not even when it's a matter of national security?" said Colonel Richmond, and he gave young Richard a nod to remove the doctor as well. Obediently, Richard reached for the man's arm to take him from the room

"This is my patient! I need to study him!" Feldstrom protested. "Time is flying, and I have no idea when he was originally bitten, and therefore no idea how much longer he'll be under the influence of those… those… Time Flies, did you call them? The research must be done _now_; it cannot wait!"

"In fact," said a voice that had not been normal for some time now, "the bite must have happened between one and two in the morning, because it's a quarter past six now and probably nearly daylight. We need to move."

"Jim!" exclaimed the colonel, turning to see West in the act of snapping his pocket watch shut and putting it away. "Then you're better!"

"Yes sir, I'm glad to say I am. I finally began to hear people talking at normal speed again just now while the good doctor here was begging to get in a few tests on me." Jim hopped off the hospital bed and crossed the room to reclaim his hat. With a nod to Feldstrom, he said, "Good day then, Doctor. Colonel?" and Jim opened the door to leave.

"No, wait!" cried Feldstrom. "You can't go yet! I haven't discharged you! And even if you're better, I still want to make some tests!"

West turned in the doorway and leveled a stern look at the man. "Dr Feldstrom," he said, "let me assure you that if Dr Loveless has his way, you will soon find yourself with an overabundance of new patients here showing the same sort of symptoms I did, and you may run all the tests you want on them to your heart's content. Also, if you recall what we were told of what happens to those who are bitten twice by these Time Flies, you should also expect shortly to have your morgue filled to overflowing. In fact, there's no guarantee that you yourself won't wind up in one category or the other. So if you'll excuse us, Doctor, we have a madman to stop before he can release his Time Flies and decimate this city." West then donned his hat and walked out, accompanied by Colonel Richmond and Richard Henry.

"What? Wait. Come back!" called the doctor and pursued them down the hall.

…

"So," said Lee when at last Denise ran out of story, "you're telling me that Captain Sluggish there is the famous James West?"

Denise frowned. "Captain…?"

"And your Uncle Artie is his partner?"

"Artemus Gordon, yes."

Lee grinned at her and gave a low whistle. "Heh! I think I'm gonna be jealous!" She glanced up then and added, "Oh, and speaking of Captain Sluggish…"

Denise turned to look as well and saw Jim walking briskly down the hospital corridor, the colonel at his side, and both Richard Henry and the doctor trailing in their wake.

"All right," the colonel was saying, "then that's what we'll do. We'll need to cover every entrance to the city on every side. Richard!"

"Yes sir, Colonel Richmond, sir!" said the ever-enthusiastic Mr Henry.

"Dick, I need you to ride back to Mr Pike and have him recall his men. We'll need every available man we can find."

"Yes sir!" He bustled out past his superiors, bobbing a nod at the two ladies sitting near the door as he hurried outside to find his horse.

Jim too nodded at the ladies. "Good night, Denise. Thank you for the ride, miss," he said, and the colonel added his farewells as both men strode on out the door into the early morning.

The doctor, still rushing after the men, finally had to admit defeat as the door swung shut in front of him. He stood there a moment longer, his hand upraised, his mouth half open, before he sighed heavily and turned back to stroll glumly away down the hospital corridor.

"Well!" said Lee, slapping her thighs as she bounded to her feet, "Let's get out of here. I'll take you home."

"You will?"

"Sure! I've got a wagon waiting out back. That's the ride Captain Sl… I mean, Mr West mentioned just now. I gave him and Missie a lift, and I'll give you one as well. You'll be home hugging your little sweetie in no time."

"Oh, I like the sound of that!" said Denise and she followed Lee out the door.

…

"Rafe! Hey, Rafe!" One of his men suddenly appeared from around the corner of the hospital, hollering loudly, his arms windmilling to capture Rafe's attention.

Scowling fiercely, Rafe hurried over. "Finn, you dang fool, jes' shut yer mouth!" he hissed. "You wanna wake the dead?"

"But look, Rafe!" Finn answered. "See? Jes' comin' out the front door of that there hospital! Ain't that James West?"

"Yeah, sure is. So?"

"So doncha think the Boss'd like us to snatch him better'n that Sparrow girl?" His face beamed with the brilliance of his suggestion.

Rafe shot him a stunned look. "Now you listen here!" he exclaimed. "You go an' mess this up so's we show up in front of the Boss an' we ain't got that girl he sent us after, an' I don't care who you bring 'im, I ain't standin' anywheres near you when the Boss goes to rantin' an' ravin'. You fergit already what happened to them two fellas that killed Gordon? Course it turned out he wasn't dead after all, but too late fer them!"

And Rafe stalked off muttering to himself as Finn stood there dumbstruck.

The dumbstrickenness didn't last for long. Not two minutes later Finn was hollering again. "Rafe! Hey Rafe, c'mere!"

Rafe charged over and grabbed Finn by the arm. "Can't you ever shut _up?_"

"But… but it's _her_, Rafe! Ain't it?"

Rafe took a look. "'Bout time!" he grumbled, spotting the rust-colored skirt and the yellow blouse. Turning to Finn, he added, "Idjit! You was supposed to hoot, not holler!"

"She's got some kid with her," Finn observed, and Rafe took in the slight figure in jeans and a flannel shirt walking at the woman's side.

"Aw, he ain't nothing'," said Rafe. "We'll knock 'im out 'fore he knows what hit 'im. Git Banjo."

Finn drew a breath to holler, only to have Rafe slap him upside the head. "_Hoot _fer 'im, you pea brain!"

"Oh, right," said Finn, and brought forth his best imitation of an owl.

…

Lee paused as they rounded the corner of the hospital grounds and cocked her head to listen. "You got owls in this city?" she asked. "Seasick owls?"

"Hmm?" responded Denise. "Oh, I have no idea." She followed along as Lee headed for her wagon. "My, but I want to get home right away!" Denise rattled on. "It's not that I don't trust Uncle Artie and Mr West and the rest of the Secret Service agents to do their best, but if Dr Loveless should release those Time Flies…! Well, I want us all to be inside with the windows closed, safe."

"What about the chimneys?" Lee asked.

"Chimneys!" Denise exclaimed. "Oh my, I didn't think about those! We'll have to close up all the flues, won't we? And…"

They were still several yards from the wagon, and Lee was doing her best to ignore Denise's continuing chatter as she tipped her head again to listen. It wasn't strange owls she heard this time. Casually she pulled something from her pocket and palmed it before giving Denise a sudden sharp thump on the arm. "Run!" Lee hissed and whirled to glare at the trio of gunmen who were now closing in on them. "What do you want?" she demanded.

With a gasp, Denise too spun around.

Lee shot her a sidelong look and hissed for a second time, "I said, Run!"

But it was too late now. Three revolvers were trained on them. "Git yer hands up!" ordered the leader. And as his captives obeyed, he added, "Mornin', Miz Sparrow."

"What do you want?" said Lee once more, slowly putting up her hands with them turned sideways to conceal the fact that she had something hidden in her right palm.

"You keep outta this, kid. We jes' want Miz Sparrow." And he nodded at one of his men. "Git 'er, Banjo."

"Sure, Rafe," said the thug nearest to Denise, and he was reaching out to grab her when Lee said, "Fine. You got me. I'm Mrs Sparrow."

"Huh?" Banjo turned to stare at Lee. "But yer a boy!"

Finn, the man closest to Lee, peered at her sharply, then yelped, "No, that ain't no boy! They musta switched clothes when they was in that hospital building!" And he aimed his gun at Lee.

Rafe glared at the two women, turning his eyes first toward one, then the other, not sure what he was going to do now. Both women, he saw, had very dark hair and dark eyes, and though the one in the skirt was plainly older than the one in pants, their faces looked enough alike to confuse him. Which was the woman the Boss wanted? Rafe hadn't ever gotten a good look at Mrs Sparrow anyway, so he'd been depending on the fact that she was dressed in yellow and rust-red to be able pick her out. But now, faced with the possibility that she had swapped clothing with the other… "Aww!" he fumed. "Looks like we gotta grab 'em both. And if we're gonna do that, I wanna carry 'em in that wagon there." Rafe started toward Lee's rig, gesturing for his men to bring the two women.

Smirking, the two minions holstered their guns, each man reaching for the woman closest to him. And now that the guns were put away, Denise did at last what Lee had urged her to do when the men first appeared: she took off running.

"Hey!" yelled Banjo and went scrambling after her.

Rafe paused a second as he decided whether or not to help Banjo chase down the girl. Shaking his head, he instead went to the wagon. The horse looked a bit odd, and he wanted to make sure everything about this wagon was in good order before they started out.

Meanwhile, Finn said to Lee, "Smart of you not to run, so you jes' come right along now, sugar." In response, she put on a look of helplessness, her hands trembling slightly as she held them at shoulder height. And now she rolled her palms outward, exposing the smooth wooden item in her right hand.

"Hey! What's that?" Finn asked suspiciously.

She shrugged. "Just a toy."

"Well, drop it!" he ordered.

"Sure." And she did. The wooden double-disk spun down from her hand, unspooling the string that attached it to her finger. It hit the end of the string and slept there for a bit until Lee gave a flick of her wrist, sending the toy back up to her palm. She caught it, then let it drop again.

"Now cut that out!" Finn ordered.

"I can't. I don't have scissors," she quipped.

Throwing a hostile look her way, he made a grab at the string, but she twisted it out of his reach, holding her other hand out to hinder him. "Wait, wait," she said. "Haven't you ever seen a yo-yo before? Look what I can do! See? This is Walking the Dog…"

"Stop that!" he said as she let the yo-yo roll along the ground.

"…and this is Rocking the Cradle…" She demonstrated that as well, using her hands to shape the string into a triangle with the yo-yo swinging through the middle.

"I said stop it!" he ordered.

Putting her empty hand out to forestall him again, she said, "…and this is Around the World!" The hard wooden yo-yo whipped around in a full circle at tremendous speed and clonked the kidnapper right in the noggin.

Finn gave a yelp of pain and fell to the ground. Quickly Lee snagged his gun out of its holster and used the butt of it to knock him on the head a second time, making sure he was out cold.

"Hey!"

Lee looked up to see Rafe sitting on the seat of her wagon. "What'd you do to 'im?" he growled, nodding at Finn unconscious on the ground.

"Just gave him a headache he's not ever gonna forget," she replied, putting the yo-yo away.

He pointed his gun at her. "Well, no more of that! Yer comin' with us, girlie, an' that's all there is to it!"

At this point the wagon under him gave a sudden lurch, throwing him off balance. "Hey!" he yelled as the ghostly pale horse lunged forward, dragging the wagon with it. Rafe jumped clear and landed in the dust rolling, his gun still in his hand. "Goldurn it!" he cried as he scrambled to his feet again. "What's got into that horse?"

Horse and wagon circled around and came charging back at Rafe now, swiftly picking up speed.

"Chip!" Lee cried out.

The wagon clattered onward, rushing toward the gunman. Feeling the hair on the back of his neck rising, Rafe swung to take aim at the animal. The wagon surged forward even as he pulled the trigger, and though Rafe was sure he couldn't possibly have missed, the horse and wagon just keep coming, bowling into Rafe, knocking him to the ground unconscious.

The wagon made a wide turn and came to a halt.

Lee hurried over to her wagon first to assure herself that Chip was fine, then crossed to the fallen man. "Well," she said, "I don't think you killed him, Chip. He's still breathing, at least, so that's good."

A sudden shriek spun Lee about and she saw the final gunman returning, carrying Denise bodily.

"Calm down, you wildcat!" he snarled at her as she kicked and smacked at him valiantly but fruitlessly.

Lee lifted Finn's gun and leveled it at Banjo. "Let her go!" she commanded.

The last gunman stared at her for a second. Then, his lips curling into a sneer, he said, "Yeah? What you gonna do if I don't?"

"I'll shoot you!" Lee promised, trying to keep the gun in her hand from shaking too badly.

Banjo laughed and drew his own revolver, jamming it into Denise's ribs. "I don't believe you!" he declared. "And now, 'less you want me to shoot _her_, you jes' toss down that gun nice an' easy-like, you hear me?"

Lee glared at him, then dropped the gun out of her hand.

"Right smart of you," he said. Jerking his head at the other two men lying on the ground, he growled at Lee, "What'd you do!"

She shrugged. "A little fun and games, a little wagon ride…"

Banjo's eyes narrowed as he hauled Denise along, keeping a firm grip on her arm. He came arrived by his leader's side and said, "Rafe, I got 'em both!"

No answer from Rafe. "Uh… Finn?" he said next, turning to the other minion. But there was no answer from him either. Both his cronies were out cold.

Banjo stared down at his felled companions, then scowled at the two women. "Looks like I'm gonna hafta finish this job all by myself," he said, thinking out loud. 'Problem is, we was s'posed to fetch Miz Sparrow back to the Boss, but which one of you's Miz Sparrow?" Like Rafe before him, he looked back and forth between his two captives for a bit, trying to figure out which was which, then growled, "Consarn it! Rafe was right. The only way to do this is to fetch him the both of you! Now, where's that there wagon Rafe was gonna use?" He swiveled his head, looking for it, but it was no longer anywhere in sight. "Tarnation! I hate walkin' when we coulda drove! All right then, git a move on. And no funny business outta either one of you! " He herded the women along before him, hoping no one who was outside this early in the morning would notice the gun he was holding on the pair.

As they walked, Denise leaned over to Lee and whispered, "Well, thanks anyway for trying to help out."

"I guess I don't bluff very well."

"By pretending you're going to shoot someone when you've obviously never held a revolver in your hands in your whole life? No."

Lee stared at her. "How did you know that?"

"You didn't cock the gun. If you don't pull back the hammer first, you can pull on the trigger all you want, but it's never going to fire."

"Oh!" said Lee. "Well, you learn something new every day, huh?"

"Shut up, both of you!" growled the gunman. "The Boss is waitin'!"


	16. Act 4, Part 3

**Act Four, Part Three ~~~~**

As Colonel Richmond and James West arrived back at the office building in the early morning hours, a guard on the inside came and unlocked the door to let them in. "Good morning," said the colonel, then paused. "Ah. I'm sorry. I thought I knew all the guards by name."

"Name's Glass, sir. Wally Glass. It's my first day."

"Ah. Well, good morning, Glass." The colonel and Jim headed down the corridor and up the stairs. Glancing around them, Richmond whispered, "I was not aware that we were hiring any new guards."

To which Jim replied, "Yes sir - especially not someone who hasn't bothered to shave in the past three days."

Running feet charged up the stairs behind them. Both men turned, reaching for their weapons, but at the sight of the figure bounding up the steps they relaxed. "Richard! You've returned more promptly than expected."

"Yes sir, Colonel Richmond, sir! I met Mr Pike and his men on the road already, and he sent me on back ahead of him to let you know they'll be here soon. Oh, and Mr Gordon is with them."

"Thank you, Dick."

The young agent looked at the colonel and Mr West, noticing that both men had their guns in hand. Eyes alight, Richard whispered, "Is something wrong, sir?"

Jim nodded, putting a finger to his lips for silence. Richard eagerly drew his derringer and followed West and their boss down the second-story corridor to the colonel's office.

Lights were on inside, shining through the frosted glass of the door. "Keeley stayed here in case of messages," the colonel said softly. Jim nodded and gently turned the doorknob. It was unlocked.

A sudden thrust forward and the three agents sprang through the doorway, each man turning to cover a different area of the anteroom. There at his desk sat Keeley, with a man standing behind him holding a gun to the secretary's head. Well over a dozen more men were ranged about the room, each pointing a gun at the three agents in the doorway.

Then the door to Colonel Richmond's office opened and a distinctive laugh sounded from within. A moment later the source of that laughter appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the immense Voltaire. "Ah, Mr West, Colonel Richmond, good morning to you, gentlemen!" said the diminutive Dr Loveless. "And as soon as the remainder of your colleagues return from their all-night vigil in the woods of Virginia, we can get down to business."

…

Downstairs, Wally Glass unlocked the door to admit a minion wrangling a couple of young women ahead of him.

"Why are we here?" demanded one of the women.

"You gonna find out soon enough, so jes' shut yer trap," replied Banjo.

And minutes after that, an elderly German fellow wandered into the area, having taken the scenic route by way of his Embassy. Positioning himself at a good vantage point across the street from a certain office building, Fritzi Drossel settled in to see what might shortly occur here.

…

"No rest for the weary," quoted Jeremy Pike as the wagon bearing himself and his fellow agents drew up at the office building. Artemus Gordon in his own wagon was trundling right behind them. The men tumbled out, yawning and stretching, most of them having taken advantage of the trip back to Washington to catch forty winks. Now, because of the news Richard Henry had brought them, they knew they were about to be sent out on another assignment right away, and there was a certain amount of grumbling, whether good-natured or otherwise, over this unavoidable fact. "Well," said Pike, clapping Evans on the shoulder, "let's go see the Colonel." And they all headed for the door.

Almost all headed for the door, that is. One of the men paused and looked around.

"Coming, Artie?" asked Pike.

"Not just yet. There's something I want to check on. I'll catch up with you inside," said Artie.

"Ok, fine," said Jeremy, and he and his men went on in, admitted to the building by the new guard on duty, while Artemus stood out on the street yet, slowly taking in the scene, his forefinger on its own coming up to thumb at his nose. Something was bothering him, something he had just seen. But what?

Slowly he turned, studying everything that fell under his eye. There were the wagons they had just come in on. A minimal number of people were moving along the street, mostly shopkeepers sweeping the sections of sidewalk in front their own doors in preparation for the new day. A few delivery wagons were in evidence as well.

Hmm. Artie saw a little old man lounging on the opposite side of the street smoking a cigarette, just leaning against the wall, smoking and smiling and looking all around. So inoffensive was he that Artie became suspicious. What was that fellow doing? he wondered, and he started across the street to find out.

And that's when he saw it out of the tail of his eye, the thing that had caught his attention, insisting to be seen anew. An empty wagon was parked along the street, and it had the world's most jittery horses hitched in the harness. Slowly and casually, Artie walked past the team, observing them. The horses certainly were breathing fast, their feet pawing rapidly at the ground, their tails swishing with unusual frequency. Could it be that all the systems of their bodies were operating at three times normal speed? Artie thought it over for some time, then nodded. This, he was sure, was one of Loveless' two wagons, the one that had brought his men here. So where was the other wagon, the one with the octopoid tank?

Wherever it was, no doubt it was nearby. Artie picked a direction and started searching.

…

The anteroom to Colonel Richmond's office was pretty crowded now. Dr Loveless was perched on the secretary's desk, his legs dangling over the edge, grinning broadly as he surveyed his captives, both old and new, all of them surrounded by his armed minions. "I suppose you are all wondering," he proclaimed, his eyes glinting evilly, "why I have gathered you together here today. Hmm?"

A sea of Secret Service agents stared back at him with stony eyes.

"It's really quite simple," said Loveless. "It all started with Mr James West and his insistence on intruding into my business. No matter where I turned or what I tried to accomplish, Mr West continually interposed himself between me and my goals, frustrating my plans. Interfering! He's always been interfering in my concerns!"

"Your concerns," said West, "included schemes to blow up five thousand people at a time, starve out whole tribes of Indians, burn the city of Washington, and contaminate the water supply with a hallucinogenic substance that would throw every man, woman, and child who so much as touched it into a homicidal rage. Of course I intervened!"

"You _meddled!_" Loveless glowered. "You incessant meddler! Always pestering me, always harassing me! First you, then Mr Gordon as well. You execrable Secret Service men! I hate you! I despise you all! Yes, every single one of you, all of you down to the last man! But soon," and he rocked back, smiling in delight, "soon I will rid the earth of you all! No more Secret Service! All of you - every single one of you - shall be dead!" He laughed, chortling deliciously. "What a vast improvement that will be, to have none of you - not so much as one - left! But first," he added, "I have a little demonstration to complete. One that Mr Gordon so rudely interrupted earlier. Isn't that right, Mr Gordon?"

There was no response.

"Come, come, Mr Gordon. Don't be petulant!"

Still there was no answer. Loveless' henchmen were starting to look at each other in confusion. And the little doctor himself scrambled to his feet atop the secretary's desk, scanning the room, a stunned look of consternation in his eyes. "Why, Mr… Mr Gordon! Where are you? Show yourself!" he demanded, rage suffusing his face. "Mr Gordon, stop hiding from me! Oh! You're so _childish!_" he cried, stamping his feet.

"He's not hiding," said West, who had been looking around himself. "He's not here."

"But he… he has to be here! I… I gathered all the Secret Service agents to… to destroy you all at once!"

Now every head was turning, staring, looking everywhere. "Nope," put in Jeremy Pike after a bit. "No Artie."

"Oh!" Loveless fumed. "That infuriating…!" He glared at everyone in the room, his eyes at last coming to rest on Denise Sparrow. "And I had such plans to kill you in front of Mr Gordon's eyes, my dear! Well, I'm sure Mr Gordon will be along shortly. He makes a habit of popping in to rescue his companions. In the meantime…" and he scowled at Banjo. "I sent you out to retrieve Mrs Sparrow. I don't know why you insisted on bringing this other woman along as well. Get rid of her."

Banjo started. "Git… git rid…?"

"Yes, yes, get rid of her!" Loveless glanced about the room, then pointed at the open window behind the two women and ordered, "Defenestrate her!"

"De, uh, what?" said Banjo in confusion.

Loveless flung up his hands. "Incompetents. I am surrounded by incompetents! Defenestrate her, you fool! To defenestrate means to throw someone out a window!"

"Oh!" said Banjo. He started toward the women who were standing side by side. Lee glared at him, bracing herself, determined that, regardless of how many minions with guns there were in the room, she would fight and fight hard before anyone could pitch her out any window!

Banjo walked up to the women, glanced back once more at the implacable Dr Loveless, then reached out and grabbed Denise by the arm to toss her through the window.

It took Jim West much less than half a second to realize what Banjo was about to do. As he charged in to stop the minion, to Jim's surprise, the girl at Denise's side whirled and tackled Banjo, knocking both him and Denise to the floor and landing on top of the two. Jim yanked Banjo aside and landed a solid punch on the man's jaw, stunning him. Two other minions got into the act now, grabbing Jim and pulling him away from the pile-up on the floor as Lee flung herself across Denise to protect her.

Loveless was screaming, but no one could make out what he was saying. Most of his henchmen were hanging back, keeping their guns trained on the rest of the Secret Service agents, keeping them out of the fight as well.

Voltaire now waded in, reaching for West who was still held fast between two minions. As the giant closed with him, Jim kicked up off the floor into a back-flip, breaking the pair's hold on him, then grabbed one of them by the arm and slung him into Voltaire.

Now Loveless' voice began to cut through the chaos. "Stop! Stop! _Stop!_" he screeched. Jim had just floored the other minion with a backhanded right fist. Voltaire's hand froze in the air above West's head as his master's voice filtered through to him. Slowly all the combatants began to retreat to their former positions.

Lee got up and held her hand down to help Denise to her feet. "Let's go stand somewhere away from the window," she said. Denise, still feeling a bit dazed, reached for Lee's hand.

Banjo opened his eyes and shook his head. Sitting up and looking around, he saw the girl in pants with her back to him, leaning over the woman in rust and yellow. Scowling, he launched a foot against the inside of the knee of the girl who was upright, toppling her. He then snatched up the woman from the floor and completed his assignment by hurling her out the window.

And as she fell…

"You idiot!" screamed Loveless. "I wanted Mr Gordon to see her die. Why did you defenestrate Mrs Sparrow?"

"But," said Banjo, eyes wide, pointing at Lee, "she said _she _was Mrs Sparrow!"

Loveless made an inarticulate howl of frustration, then gestured to Voltaire. A second later, Loveless had one less minion.

The little doctor clambered down from the desk and rushed to look out the window to watch Denise fall.

**Meanwhile…**

Vogel lit another cigarette and continued to scan the street scene. A great number of men had entered the office building opposite, but no one had come back out. A wagon down the street had some spectacularly agitated horses hitched to it. And a raggedy-looking man had eyed him very suspiciously a few minutes earlier before scrutinizing the overwrought horses and then moving away down an alley and out of sight.

Other than those curiosities, nothing seemed to be happening. Perhaps, thought Vogel, he had pieced the puzzle together incorrectly…

A sudden movement caught his eye, drawing his attention upward. A woman was falling from a second-story window opposite him!

Vogel tossed his cigarette aside and charged across the street at a dead run.

**Meanwhile…**

Artie had gone all the way around one city block, searching for the missing wagon, but had found no sign of it. Where could it be? He came out onto the street again, looked around, glanced over at the office building that housed the Secret Service headquarters, and found himself wondering why the window to Colonel Richmond's anteroom was standing open.

The next second a body came flying out that window, a body that was dressed in rust and yellow.

Niecie!

Artie started running and, though he hadn't been bitten by a Time Fly, for him, time slowed down. He could see every detail, each one burning its way into his consciousness. He saw the stunned look on Niecie's face. He saw the head that bobbed up in the window she'd been flung from - Loveless' head? He saw the grassy verge between the building and the street, directly below Niecie's descending form. And he saw that he would never get to her in time. His niece, his little cousin, was about to be killed in front of his eyes, and there was nothing Artie could do to stop it.

He saw too that the old man who'd been loitering across the street was racing for her as well. He was far closer to Niecie than Artie himself was. But how could an old man like that run so fast?

**Meanwhile…**

Denise had been so shocked when the little doctor's minion grabbed her and hurled her from the window, she hadn't even screamed. Silently she fell, the air whistling in her ears, her only thought being: what would become of Missie? And then she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the ground rushing up.

There was a sudden _thud _- but from the wrong direction entirely. Something had hit her from the side, and now she was rolling, tumbling across the narrow grassy lawn, all arms and legs. She came to rest at last, her head still spinning, a roaring in her ears.

No, not roaring - cheering! The sparse gathering of people in the street in the early morning were venting their relief at her rescue in glad hurrahs. But who was her rescuer?

Somebody slid to a halt beside her. "Niecie! Are you all right, Sunshine?"

She blinked her eyes open and looked up into a dear and worried face. "Uncle Artie? What… what happened?"

A groan sounded from close at hand. Artie and Niecie turned to look. The old man was gingerly levering himself up into a sitting position. "_Ach mein Himmel_," he muttered to himself, then glanced over at the others. "_Fraulein_," he exclaimed, "you are all right?"

"I, I think so. You saved me?"

He smiled modestly. "Anyone would have," he said.

"_Danke schön, mein Herr!_" Artie said from his heart, then turned to Niecie and asked, "What happened?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Dr Loveless ordered one of his men to throw Lee out the window. But he threw me out instead."

"Lee? Who's… Never mind. Loveless is up there?" He thought he'd seen that face! "Who else?"

"Lots of Secret Service agents: Mr West, Colonel Richmond, Mr Henry, Mr Pike, Mr Keeley. A great number more whom I don't know by name. Lee, of course. And Dr Loveless and Voltaire. A lot of henchmen too."

Someone was missing. "And Antoinette?"

Denise's eyebrows arched. "Why, no! I didn't see her at all."

Hmm. The gears were meshing in Artie's head, grinding out an idea. "And Loveless was boasting, I suppose. What did he say? What's his plan? The Time Flies still?"

"He said he hated all the Secret Service agents and was going to kill them all."

"How?"

"He.. he didn't say. Except…"

"Yes?"

"He… he said he was going to finish a demonstration you had interrupted earlier. He wanted…" She dropped her eyes. "He wanted to kill me before your eyes. Only then he realized you weren't there. So he decided to wait for you, expecting you to come to the rescue."

Ah, he knew what Loveless was talking about and what he planned to do! Artie nodded and kissed Niecie on the forehead. "Thanks, sweetie. But he nearly managed to kill you before my eyes anyway. Right now though I have to go do something about Loveless. _Mein Herr?_"

"Hmm? _Ja?_" said the old German, trying not to look as interested in the foregoing conversation as he really had been.

"Will you watch over my niece for me until I return, _bitte?_"

"_Ach, ja, natürlich_," the old fellow agreed.

"_Danke schön_," said Artie. He patted Niecie on the arm, then glanced up at the window once more. That window was open for a reason, he was sure of it. But what was the reason? A signal? And if it were a signal, then it would have to be in line-of-sight of whomever the signal would be for…

Wait. There was a… what was that, a narrow tube? with its open end by the window and its length disappearing around the corner of the building. Artie jogged round the corner, following it with his eyes.

Ah! To another open window. He fixed firmly in his mind which room this other window was part of. Then he charged around the building to come in through the back way.

…

As soon as the cheer went up from below, Loveless turned from the window in a fury. "Darn, darn, _darn!_" he fussed. "Some meddling old fool down there managed to break her fall and save her life! Darn!"

"I thought you didn't want her dead," said West.

"Not exactly," Loveless replied. "I would have preferred to kill her in front of Mr Gordon. Killing her anyway would have been second best. I wanted to wound Mr Gordon to the heart by destroying his clandestine daughter!"

There was a general murmuring as the word "Daughter!" was repeated by most of the agents, and Lee scrambled to her feet, staring at the little man, her mouth hanging open.

"Wait a minute," said West. "Are you still on that? First you thought little Missie was Artie's child, and now you think Denise Sparrow is?" He shook his head. "You are a sad little man, Loveless. Both of them are his cousins - no matter what you may think."

"I am not wrong!" insisted Loveless. "I'm never wrong! And I…" He broke off, looking at Lee, who was now standing near Jim with her arms folded, smirking and snickering at Dr Loveless. "And you!" the little doctor growled. "Who are you anyway?"

"Someone who thinks you're ridiculous," she replied, a thoroughly obnoxious grin still on her face. "Man, I tell you, if I were Mr Gordon's daughter, I sure wouldn't want to be around you!"

He glared back at her, and for a moment his brow furrowed in confusion. But then he sneered, "Oh, and what do I care who you are anyway? I only care that you misled my minion and ruined my vengeance! Voltaire!"

"Yes, Dr Loveless?" said the giant.

The doctor made a dismissive gesture toward the girl. "Dispose of her."

Voltaire grinned, his eyes lighting up. He turned toward Lee, his huge hands reaching for her.

Lee tipped her head all the way up, then looked around herself rapidly. Her eyes wide as if in panic, she backed away from the giant, only to trip over what was left of poor old Banjo. She sprawled on the floor, groaned, and went limp.

Voltaire's face sagged. "Aw, Dr Loveless, she knocked herself out! I can't do anything if she's knocked out!"

And as the giant turned to make his complaint to his master, Lee, no longer pretending to be either panicked or unconscious, slipped the revolver out of Banjo's holster, aimed the gun at Voltaire, and drew back the hammer.


	17. Act 4, Part 4

**Act Four, Part Four ~~~~**

In a room down the hall and around the corner from the colonel's office, a woman in a beekeeper's suit was fussing over the multiple arms bristling from the top of a large tank. Over and over she checked the connections where the hollow arms joined into a larger tube which then snaked out the window. There must be no gaps or leaks!

Now and again she paused to listen to a palm-sized box, a metal grid covering its topmost surface. She did not want to miss the signal.

As she worked, she occasionally bumped against the tank, which inevitably provoked a vicious buzzing from within. Nervously she drew the veil of the beekeeper's hat close around her shoulders, not wanting any of her beloved's amazing creatures to find its way past the veil to bite her.

Any time now, she thought. Antoinette continued to monitor the tank of Time Flies as she waited for Dr Loveless' signal.

…

The sound of Lee cocking the revolver drew every eye in the room to her. "Now that I have your attention," she said coldly, "back off!"

Voltaire whirled to gape at the girl, stunned. She had tricked him? A glower settled over his face and he took a menacing step toward her.

And as he moved forward, she, on the floor, tried to move back, attempting to keep the weapon pointed at the giant while she scooted away from him, making an effort also to get into a position from which she could push herself upright. And in the midst of trying to do so many things all at once, she didn't notice how tightly the fingers of her hand were contracting around the gun, including the one on the trigger…

_Blam!_

The silence that followed was almost more deafening than the gunshot. Then Voltaire, with an expression of great astonishment spreading across his wide face, slowly folded up, shaking the entire room when he landed. Another moment of stunned silence ensued.

That moment was followed by chaos. And in the confusion…

Jim West slammed an elbow into the ribs of the henchman nearest to him, doubling him over. A knee to the chin put that fellow out for the count.

Colonel Richmond was a bit more conventional, taking out the closest minion to him with a left to the body and a right to the jaw.

Lee scrambled to her feet and stared down at the giant, utterly horrified at what she had done. Then a minion jumped her, knocking her to the floor, trying to wrestle the revolver from her hand. Doggedly, Lee hung on to it for dear life.

All around the room, Secret Service agents and Loveless' henchmen waded into each other. Punches were thrown, shots fired. Noise reigned supreme. Some of the agents went down, and so did some of the henchmen. Richard Henry decked a minion, smiled proudly, then shook out his fingers in agony. "Oh my, but that hurt!" he exclaimed.

Jim rushed the desk, going after Dr Loveless, who instantly dove for the floor. "Voltaire!" called the little doctor, scurrying into the kneehole of the desk. But Voltaire was laid out on the floor, as still as death.

Lee was doing her best not to panic as the minion relentlessly battled her for the gun. Bit by bit he was gaining control of it, until he was able to draw back the hammer, shifting the muzzle more and more to point it toward the girl. Mindful of what Denise had told her about the hammer and the trigger, Lee did the only thing she could think of: she jammed the web between her thumb and forefinger into the space between the hammer and the rest of the gun. "Yeow!" she yelped as the man pulled the trigger and the sharp point of the hammer pierced her hand. But the gun did not fire and that was the important thing.

With West coming after him under the desk, Loveless abandoned that spot of refuge and ran for it, dodging amongst the combatants, looking for another bolt-hole to hide himself in. He scrambled up under the bench, then peered back out and chuckled as he saw Mr West standing and frowning as he looked around the room. Oh, Mr West had lost track of him! Loveless covered his mouth lest his merry laughter give him away.

A pair of henchmen charged West and he sidestepped, getting in a kick to the rear on one of them and driving the second into the wall.

Jeremy Pike pasted a minion and tossed him aside, then looked around. He was sure he had heard… yes! a feminine voice crying out in pain. Pike spotted the girl and pelted toward her.

The minion, with Lee's hand still trapped in the gun, was yanking on her arm. "Leggo the gun!" he snarled at her.

Jeremy charged in and slammed his shoulder into the minion, knocking him into the wall. "Let me get that off you," Pike said to Lee and drew back the hammer again, releasing her hand.

"Thanks," she said and instinctively shoved the injured webbing into her mouth, taking her hand down again long enough to say, "Oh, and you can keep that thing. Happy birthday!"

"It isn't my bir... Oh, never mind," he replied to empty air. Lee had become the newest occupant of the kneehole under the desk and was busily wrapping her hand up in a handkerchief.

Keeley made it to the desk now and flung open a drawer, going for the revolver he kept in the back of it. A pair of brawlers slammed into the drawer, crunching his hand inside and knocking the desk itself a good two feet out of its place. The fighters twisted away again, bashing into the filing cabinet, tipping it over and spilling the filing out all over the floor.

Lee looked up and found that the desk was gone from over her head. So much for that hidey-hole! she thought. Rising shakily to her feet, she glanced at Voltaire. Why, he was breathing! She backed away, not aware that someone else was right behind her, backing up as well.

Four minions rushed at Jim, trying to force him toward the window. Jim grabbed two of them and cracked their noggins together, then shoved that reeling pair into the third man.

The fourth dodged the pile-up of his comrades and aimed a kick at Jim. To his shock, Jim caught the leg, clutching it firmly against his side. Then Jim's fist met the fellow's jaw, followed by the release of the leg. One more minion was out on the floor.

Keeley, his hand still throbbing, grabbed the first thing on the desktop that he thought he might be able to use as a weapon with his wrong hand - the inkwell. He smacked one minion in the head with it and was gratified to see that fellow sink to the floor. And the heavy glass of the inkwell wasn't even chipped.

Lee, continuing to back up, ran smack into someone else's back and spun about, her uninjured hand automatically balling into a fist, only to find herself face to face with Richard Henry, also ready to hit whomever he had backed into. Both relaxed and began to laugh.

And both were slugged by minions and wound up side by side on the floor.

Jeremy spotted a henchman standing over Richard Henry, a gun in his hand, ready to shoot the groggy young man while he was down. "Hey!" yelled Jeremy and when the henchman looked up, Jeremy shot him, winging his hand. The man's gun went flying, and moments later, so did Jeremy's as a pair of men locked in combat slammed into him, knocking Jeremy to the floor. He scrambled for the gun to retrieve it, but feet kicked it out of his reach.

Jim was still scanning the room for any sign of Loveless. A minion grabbed his arm and spun him around to slug him. Jim blocked the blow and rammed a fist into the minion's gut, knocking the wind out of him. The fellow went reeling, his feet doing a little dance step in the scattered file papers before he collapsed entirely.

Another foot kicked the revolver still farther out of Jeremy's reach, and he slipped on the filing trying to catch up with it.

Evans spotted the gun skidding across the floor and dove after it. A minion had the same idea at the same time and the two men smacked into each other. As each fought to take control over the weapon, they managed only to knock it away again, sending it sliding off under the feet of others. Three different people kicked it this way and that, until at last the gun went skittering across the floor and thumped into someone who was lying on the floor.

Ouch! Lee sat up, startled that something had smacked into her. She rolled over and planted her good hand on the floor to push herself upright, then took a look to see what had hit her. Oh! It was a revolver.

She picked it up as she stood, then recognized it as Banjo's gun. Yes, it was _that _revolver!

With a shudder, she looked around and tapped one of the Secret Service agents on the shoulder. She had to duck when he spun toward her swinging, but then handed him the revolver with a little salute. The next moment she had to jump back as a henchman tackled the agent and both men went rolling off across the floor.

Pike snagged a nearby minion and swung the fellow head-first into the heavy wooden bench. With a crash the bench tipped over, exposing the little man hiding under it. "Loveless!" Pike exclaimed and made a grab for the cause of all this trouble.

"Voltaire!" hollered the little doctor.

Voltaire groaned from the floor. "I'm… I'm hit!"

"Oh, it's only a bruise, you big baby!" retorted Loveless. "I made you wear that bullet-proof vest, remember? Now get up and help me!"

The giant clambered to his feet and made a swipe at Pike. He missed, however, mainly because both Evans and Richard Henry plowed into Voltaire, their combined effort knocking the giant back to the floor. Pike, meanwhile, kept after the doctor, only losing him when Loveless darted into the colonel's office, slammed the door behind himself and jammed the back of a chair under the doorknob, effectively barricading it.

Keeley continued to lay about himself with the inkwell, clobbering every minion who got too close. Hearing Pike's voice calling out for a key, the secretary hurried to help, only to find that there was more holding the colonel's office door shut than its proper lock. Keeley looked at the glass panel in the door, closed his eyes, and lifted the inkwell to break the frosted glass.

_Blam! _A gunshot rang out and Keeley gasped and looked at his hand, watching the dark liquid running freely down his arm.

Voltaire struggled to get up once more, feeling the bruise in his chest badly now. He spotted Lee, saw red, and lurched toward her.

"Look out, girl!" Someone called a warning out to Lee and she whirled. Seeing the giant coming after her, she mimicked some of the men around her by dropped into a fighting crouch. Voltaire blinked, momentarily confused by the sight of a girl doing such a thing. He didn't see Jim West climb onto the desk and leap toward him. But Voltaire certainly felt the impact when Jim landed. Down went the giant yet again.

"Thanks, Mr West!" called Lee, dodging yet another minion diving at her.

"You're welcome," he responded as he punched out that minion's lights for her. "And it's Jim."

By this time most of the minions had lost control of their weapons one way or another, though there was still the sound of a shot now and then. Evans had been hit in the arm, Keeley in the inkwell.

Colonel Richmond spotted Banjo's revolver and snatched it up, firing it at the ceiling, catching the attention of everyone who was still conscious. "All right!" he called out. "Everyone who is working for Loveless, you are all under arrest!" And while some of the minions continued to fight, most began to surrender. The agents moved among them, handcuffing those who had given up and relieving them of any remaining weapons. With a massive sigh at having survived the fight more or less intact, Lee went to stand near the door, hoping that she would be sufficiently out of everybody's way there.

West looked around. "Where's Loveless?"

"In here, Jim!" called Jeremy, gesturing at the colonel's office. Pike was breathing heavily from a number of attempts to break through the door. Now Jim took a shot at it, ramming his shoulder into the door.

It held. Jim nodded grimly, stepped back and went after it once more, this time foot first.

The door exploded inward as the obstructing chair cracked and gave way. And as West and Pike both moved to enter the office, a blur emerged, zipping past them. The blur was slightly less than four feet tall and carrying something large in its hands. It ran past the agents, speeding along at three times normal speed. Loveless!

He reached the side of the prostrate Voltaire and crouched by him, calling out, "V'lt'r! V'lt'r!" He shook his head impatiently, then made the effort to speak more slowly. "Voltaire! Your hat!"

As the giant blinked and rose slowly to a seated position, Loveless gently placed a large-brimmed hat on his great minion's head, unfurling the veil to settle it about the big man's shoulders. The little doctor then put on his own beekeeper's hat, popped up to his feet, and grinned at the Secret Service agents.

"Y'm'th'nk…" he began, then frowned and started over. "You may think you have won, but you haven't. Do you see that tube clamped to the corner of the window? I didn't make sure that window was open merely on the off-chance of wanting to defenestrate someone. That tube leads off to another location where my lovely Antoinette is waiting, ready on my signal to release a tankful of Time Flies amongst you all. Slow Time Flies, mind you. I myself am under the influence of a fast Time Fly. And for those of you who do not know - as Mr Gordon has neglected to make his expected appearance, and so has not yet informed you - one bite from a slow Time Fly will cause your metabolism to slow down to one-third of normal speed - as Mr West can attest. But _two _bites from the same type of Time Fly - ah, gentlemen, two bites… will kill you. Instantly. And you, Mr West…" Loveless laughed, smirking, his eyes glinting, "…_you _are one bite ahead of all your comrades. So it will be my pleasure to see you die first!"

He then whipped from his pocket a palm-sized box, a large red button on its topmost surface. He held the box up for all to see, placed his thumb on the button, and with a madly radiant grin, Dr Loveless pressed the button.

…

Antoinette's box made a loud chirp. The signal! Smiling joyfully, she made one final check of the connections, then took a firm grip on a large lever on the side of the tank and jammed it downward.

She listened, frowning. Shouldn't there… shouldn't there be an exceedingly loud buzzing now, as all the Time Flies swarmed from the tank and out along the tubing to invade the colonel's anteroom? Where was the loud buzzing? She lifted the lever and shoved it down again. Why wasn't it working? Something was wrong!

"Looking for this?" came a voice from behind her.

Antoinette whipped around to see Artemus Gordon, still dressed as the drunken Irishman, standing in the doorway of the room and holding up a slender two-inch-long bit of metal between his thumb and forefinger. He smiled gently at her, dropped the metal pin into his palm and stowed it in a pocket. "Without that pin, you see," he said, "the lever you've been throwing has no connection to the latch inside the tank that opens to release the Time Flies. I removed it back when we were all still in the lair in the woods." He smiled and shrugged. "I just can't resist tinkering, you know."

She glared at him, furious, then flew at the tank, scrabbling at it with her hands, trying to find a way to get at the mechanism anyway. Miguelito was counting on her. She had to release the Time Flies!

And the little box with the metal grid just kept on chirping.

"Of course," Artie went on, "it doesn't really matter if you do manage to open the tank. The Time Flies are already dead."

She stared at him. "Dead? What?"

He nodded. "Oh yes. I killed them. You see this?" He produced one of his shiny glass smoke bombs. "Mrs Beecham, the housekeeper at the Morgans' house, gave us the clue. She described the person who abducted Peanut - better known to you as Missie Sparrow - as someone dressed as a beekeeper who moved extremely fast. That beekeeper, from what Dr Loveless said, was you, Antoinette. Correct? And obviously under the influence of a Fast Time Fly.

"Now," he went on, "Mrs Beecham also spoke of having been bitten by an insect just before she came down with her sudden strange malady. And I thought, 'Why would someone dress as a beekeeper unless they were concerned about some sort of dangerous insect, such as the one that bit Mrs Beecham?' Which led to a long train of thoughts, at the end of which I armed myself with this." And he nodded at the smoke bomb. "It contains a special chemical I loaded into it, a chemical that kills insects. I dropped a couple of these into that tank right after I disabled the lever. The Time Flies are all dead. They were dead before you left the lair."

"No!" cried Antoinette. She stared at Artie, then at the tank. "But… but they were buzzing! I heard them every time I jostled the tank!"

"Oh that! That was one of these." And Artie took another item from a pocket, a oddly shaped fist-sized box. He gave it a shake and it buzzed violently. He grinned. "A large number of ball bearings, along with a great amount of obstacles inside for them to ricochet off. Makes for an impressive noise, doesn't it?" He dropped both items back into his pockets, then said to her, "And now, Antoinette, as was said to another young lady a few hours ago, the game is over and you have lost. It's time to come along quietly. You're under arrest."

She glared at Artie, the look of pure hatred marring her pretty face. Abruptly she went for the reticule pinned at her waist, dipping her hand into it, plucking out…

Artie's hand caught hers at the wrist and he deftly relieved her of that little box of Time Flies. "Oh no," he said. "I'll take those now. I don't want to be bitten by a Slow Fly. As for you… it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet, so you don't dare let yourself be bitten by a Fast Fly either. Am I right?" He tucked the little box away in one of his many pockets, then produced a set of handcuffs. After snapping one cuff onto her right wrist, he glanced around and found a convenient piece of furniture to wrap the chain of the manacles through before clicking the second cuff around her other wrist. "There you go. Don't wander off, hmm?"

Antoinette kicked out at him, the gentle twinkle in his eye only making her all the more furious. With a tug at the brim of his cap, Artie turned away and regarded the tank. First he disconnected it from the tube that ran out the window. Then he hunkered down beside the tank, rubbing at his chin as he studied the tank. "Let's see," he muttered to himself, "I think if I do _this_…" He reached up into the underside of the tank. "…I ought to be able to put in _these_…" He tossed in two of the special smoke bombs. "…and there! That should do it."

The buzzing - enraged, outraged - started up again. It crescendoed at a volume that made Artie want to cover his ears, only to die away speedily to absolutely nothing. He stood up and stared down at the tank, then gave it a nudge.

No sound came from it. No, none whatsoever. Good. He turned away.

Antoinette was gaping at him. "You… you lied! You hadn't killed the Time Flies!"

"Mm… I bluffed. I was planning to kill them that way, as you just saw. I simply ran out of time. I had barely pulled that little pin out of the tank back in the lair before minions started pouring into the room, so I ducked under the wagon, hoping to hitch a ride with all of you to wherever you were going." With a shrug he added, "It didn't quite work out that way, of course, but the bugs are dead now and that's what matters." Artie gave a bow of his head to the pretty angry lady and walked out of the room, leaving her fuming.

A few seconds later he popped back in. "Hope you don't mind," he said as he removed her beekeeper's hat, "but this just might be needed elsewhere." And with a jaunty salute, Artie stepped once more from the room.

…

Loveless' smile faded as nothing happened. He pressed the button again and again. Where were the Time Flies? "Antoinette," he muttered at the box, "it's time to do your part, my sweet!" He glanced at the window, but there was no buzzing and there were no insects. Grimly he jammed down the button again and again. "Where are my lovely Time Flies?"

Not only were his little pets not making their appearance, but most of his erstwhile minions were beginning to put two and two together, specifically that there were only two protective veiled hats in the room, and the two heads that those hats were on, were not any of _their _heads. Minions started to murmur among themselves.

Loveless shook the little box, then whacked it with the palm of his hand. "Oh! Work, darn you! Why won't you work?"

"Ah… Dr Loveless…" said Voltaire, which the diminutive evil genius heard as "Aaahhh… Dddoooccctttooorrr Lllooovvveeellleeessssss…"

Loveless looked up to see just how many angry eyes were now staring at him. "You were gonna kill us too, weren't you?" called out one of the minions. He pressed forward, as did several of his comrades. The Secret Service agents were beginning to have trouble holding their prisoners back.

The little doctor, looking amazed and frightened, called out, "MrW'st! Ah… that is, Mr West! You… you won't permit them to harm me, will you?"

West leveled a stare at his adversary. "If I did, it would only be what you deserve." Then to his fellow agents he said, "Get these prisoners down to the holding cells."

As the room began to clear out, West turned to Loveless and Voltaire. "You're both under arrest now, so come along…"

"Not so fast, Mr West!" the doctor proclaimed gleefully. His hand moved like lightning, and suddenly in it was something the size of a match box, which he shook violently. A loud buzzing filled the air. "Remember that sound, Mr West?" said Loveless. "That is the sound of your doom! All I need to do is…"

"Jim!"

Loveless looked up, stunned, at the sound of Mr Gordon's voice. Something came spinning through the air - a beekeeper's hat! Every eye was drawn to it as Jim snatched it out of the air.

A moment later an even louder buzzing filled the room. "My Time Flies!" Loveless said joyously, and automatically he glanced to the window, the direction he had been expected them to come from all along - this despite the fact that his ears were telling him to look the other way.

The buzzing increased in volume. _Thunk! _Artie's noisemaker ball hit Loveless on the arm, jarring him hard enough to cause him to lose his grip on the little box of Time Flies. Instantly Jim pounced on the box and wrapped it up securely in the veil of the hat Artie had thrown to him.

In a fury Loveless began to stomp, fulminating, "D'rny'! d'rny'! d'rny'MrW'st! H'wd'ry'… How dare you! You… you despicable, odious, repugnant… Oh! You do-gooder!"

"Give it up, Loveless," said Jim. "It's over." He reached for the doctor - his hand was about to land on Loveless' shoulder - when the little man whirled away, dashed to Voltaire's side, then pulled something from the giant's pocket. He held this up: another box of Time Flies!

Artie shook his head. "Loveless, we just did this!"

Loveless held the box out at him, then at Jim. Then, straightening up to his full height, the little doctor announced melodramatically, "I will never be taken alive!" And he put the box under the veil of his hat with him.

There was a buzz. Loveless winced and shuddered all over, then toppled to the floor and lay still.

…

It had all happened so fast, Lee had barely had time to look at Mr West's partner after he appeared in the doorway practically at her elbow; she'd been too spellbound watching the drama of the evil little doctor. But now, as Artemus Gordon strode past her on his way to kneel by Loveless' side where he checked for the little man's pulse, then shook his head - now Lee found herself focusing completely on the big dark-haired agent. A sense of his aura lingered by her, and she muttered to herself. "Uh-oh, I've messed it up. The time isn't right!"

Keeley, standing just in front of her, overheard her declaration. Frowning, he pulled out his pocket watch and checked it against the clock on the wall. He then turned to her to say, "No, the time _is _right. That clock is set correctly. See?" But when he held out the pocket watch to show it to the girl, he saw only the door slowly swinging itself shut again, for there was now no longer anyone behind him at all.

…

The little old German sat on a stoop of one of the buildings opposite the headquarters of the Secret Service, having moved the young woman in his care across the street shortly after her uncle had left them. They two had been sitting side by side on the curb ever since, his jacket thrown around her shoulders against the early morning chill. At first he had tried to make polite conversation with her, introducing himself as Fritzi Drossel, but she had been too exhausted to reciprocate with her own name and before long her head had come to rest against his shoulder as she drifted into sleep. And so he sat there, the woman - Niecie, her uncle had called her, _nicht wahr? _Such a curious name, Niecie! - the woman dozing at his side as he pondered what might be going on across the street, wondering how many of the pieces to this puzzle he had not yet acquired.

At one point he had heard a gunshot, followed by the noises of a brawl punctuated by still more scattered gunshots, but none of the sounds had awakened Niecie. She slept on, tucked up against the old man's side.

Ah! The front door now opened and a lone figure came out. By the light of the rays of the freshly dawning sun, the old man found himself faced with yet another puzzle, for the clothing the figure wore spoke of a man, yet the long pony tail down the figure's back put the old man in mind instead of a woman.

Now the figure set out to cross the street, making a beeline, to the German's amazement, straight toward him and his sleeping companion. His puzzlement in this matter, however, was shortly resolved, for as the figure came closer, he could now discern that this was a woman, and when she stopped and knelt in front of Niecie, saying, "Hi. You ok?" he realized the newcomer was a friend of the woman at his side.

"She has fallen asleep," he responded. Nodding toward the building, he asked, "What has happened?"

She glanced behind her. "Oh… the heroes saved the day, of course. And the villain…" Her words trailed off and she shook her head. "Anyway. I'm still not quite sure what Chip had in mind…"

"Chip?" he inquired.

"…but I just wanted to tell my friend here 'Good-bye,' and that I expect… well, just tell her I'll see her later. Ok?"

"You will see her later," he repeated, tipping his head to one side. "And you are?"

She grinned and held out a hand. "Lee. Call me Lee."

"Fritzi Drossel," he responded, shaking the offered hand. "In English Lee is a girl's name then?"

She shrugged with a twinkle in her eye. "Sometimes." Then she waved and headed off. "Nice to meet you, Fritzi Drossel," she called back. "_Auf Wiedersehen_."

" '_Wiedersehen_," he echoed in reply. As he watched the girl walk off down the street and turn into an alley, he marveled at the handful of new puzzle pieces she had just tossed into his lap and wondered what they all might mean.

…

Around the corner and down the alley Lee walked, her injured hand cradled in the other as she lost herself in thought. Then, as she turned the next corner, she smiled. "There you are!" she exclaimed happily, for the little wagon with the ghostly horse was standing here waiting for her.

Ignoring the horse, Lee walked up to the wagon, ran a hand fondly along the smooth boards of its side, then threw herself wearily into the bed rather than climbing up onto the seat. Staring up at the last few stars fading into the deep blue of the dawn sky, she said, "You're gonna hafta explain this one to me, Chip, because I haven't a clue what just happened. Oh, except that we were too early." She folded her arms under her head, yawned, and said, "So… we'll have to give it another try. But not just yet. Right now, I'm tired and my hand hurts, so just… Come on, let's go home."

Anyone walking through that alley moments later would have found it quite empty. There might have been the lingering echo of a wheeze or a groan, but certainly no sound could be heard that betrayed the presence of a horse or wagon. There were not even any hoof prints in the dust, only the tracks made by a set of wagon wheels. And those tracks, curiously enough, showed that the wagon which had made them had entered the alley and come to a halt, only to vanish out of its resting place as if a giant hand had reached down and carried it bodily up into the heavens.

…

An utterly bewildered Voltaire allowed himself to be cuffed, though the manacles barely fit round his wrists, and hauled away. Artie took Antoinette down to the holding cells himself, then joined Jim and Colonel Richmond standing outside the front door of the office building. "Where, ah… where did they put Loveless?" Artie asked.

Jim gestured at a wagon just down the street. "As soon as the rest of the henchmen are under lock and key, someone will drive him off to the morgue."

Artie shook his head in amazement, holding his cap in his hand. "I never thought it would end like this. I mean, we've thought he was dead before. But for him to… to go like that! Right in front of us!" He shuddered.

Jim and the colonel nodded in agreement. "It was the last thing I expected," said Jim.

"All that genius, wasted," put in the colonel. "All the good he could have done for mankind!"

"He never thought like that," said Jim. "Sometimes he spoke of doing good. But his view of what was good for mankind…"

"The rest of us would not have liked it one bit," Artie finished for him. "Remember how he killed the forest to win over the Indians?"

"And wanted to blow up all the generals and politicians…"

"…And planned to kill all the heads of state across the world."

"And yet… he would gently lift a fly out of his cup of tea to save its life and set it free again."

They stood for a moment, remembering.

…

"Is that not your uncle?" Fritzi Drossel asked of the _Fraulein_ at his side. Drossel - Vogel - nodded toward the raggedy-looked man who had just emerged from the building opposite and was standing with two men Vogel knew by sight, name, and reputation: James West and Colonel Richmond. The three men were deep in conversation, and, Vogel noted, all three were holding their hats in their hands. Did that perhaps portend something? Two men had emerged earlier carrying something small between them which they had then laid in a wagon that was conveniently near. Had someone died? A… not a child, he hoped, remembering the kidnapping rumors from earlier.

Niecie's eyes flickered at the sound of her rescuer's voice. "Hmm? What?" She looked around. "Oh yes, there's Uncle Artie," she said. She blinked and made a move as if to get up.

Immediately the amiable old man stood and offered his hand to her, helping her to her feet. They started toward the three men in front of the office building. The woman was swaying on her feet though, and Vogel slipped his arm around her to steady her. "You have had a long night, I think, _Fraulein_," he said.

She gave a wan smile. "Longest I've ever known. I just want to get home now."

He paused. "I, ah… I could see you home, if you wish me to."

"Mmm. That's kind of you." Her voice was fading badly. "Wanna… I want to see Uncle Artie right now."

"_Natürlich_," said Vogel. He continued escorting her up the street, but slowly, for she was not moving very fast. Ahead of them, the three men were looking off toward the wagon into which the small bundle had been laid.

…

"Well," said Artie at length, "one thing's for sure. With no Dr Loveless in the world, our lives will be easier. And though I hesitate to say it, a lot more boring."

"I can't help thinking he's got one last twist to throw our way," said Jim.

"What, from the grave?" asked the colonel.

Jim and Artie turned to look at him. "Grave…" said Artie.

"No, not grave. Coffin!" said Jim.

"Gentlemen?" asked the colonel.

"Yoga!" said Artie. "He knew how to slow his pulse and breathing…"

"But could he do so that quickly?" asked Jim.

"I don't know. Once I checked him and couldn't find a pulse, none of us bothered to monitor him afterwards. Right?"

"We assumed he'd released a second Fast Time Fly to bite him and kill him…"

"But what if instead he released a Slow Fly? That would restore him to normal speed…"

"And then if he fell down and played dead…"

"And for that matter, he could have had something strapped to his side to press his arm against to temporarily cut off his pulse…"

They turned toward the wagon. And as one, the three began to run.

…

_Herr _Vogel was still escorting the drowsy _Fraulein _toward the group of men standing in front of the building, the couple having crossed the street only partway, when the most astounding things began to occur. First, the three men took off running away from them and toward the wagon parked just up the street. And then, startlingly, quite suddenly, a manic little man popped up from the bed of that wagon. He grinned wildly at those who were running toward him, giving them a mocking wave. "_Au revoir_, my dear friends, Mr Gordon, Mr _West!_" he sang out. "Until we meet again!" And then, hopping over the end of the wagon bed onto the seat, he took up the reins and gave them a slap. Instantly his horses leapt to life and the wagon careened away, taking off at amazing speed.

The men ran on a few steps farther before giving up. "I'll have someone bring us horses," said the colonel.

Artie shook his head and swatted his cap against his leg in frustration. "It's no use, Colonel. Those horses - that wagon! I should have realized! Those are the horses that were bitten by his Fast Time Flies. They've still got a couple of hours of speed left. We'll never catch them."

Jim stood there, arms folded, also shaking his head. "He did it to us again. Loveless did it. He faked his own death and eluded us once more."

"Well," said Artie, "we did say we'd never expected it to end like that."

"Yes. And it turns out, it didn't."

**~ End of Act Four ~**


	18. Tag

**Tag ~~~~**

Denise Sparrow was sound asleep on the sofa in the varnish car. Jim and the colonel were conversing quietly over drinks while Artie was busy with some things at the table.

"You realize," Jim was saying, "that wherever you put Voltaire and Antoinette, Loveless will attempt to free them."

"Oh yes," the colonel replied. "And we'll be ready for him." He took a sip of his drink and frowned. "That is," he amended, "we'll do our best to be ready for him." He shook his head. "That little doctor is certainly uncanny, isn't he?"

"That's an understatement," said Jim.

Glancing over to be sure his niece was really asleep, Artie called to the others, "Come have a look at this."

"What is it?" The two men walked into the dining area.

"_Herr _Drossel's jacket." At their blank looks, Artie explained, "He was the one who broke Niecie's fall and saved her. The little old German fellow? You remember: after Loveless' miraculous return from the dead, _Herr _Drossel turned Niecie over to me and wandered off again."

"Yes," said Jim. "What about him?"

"I suppose he must have emptied out his pockets at some point, for I didn't find a thing in them," said Artie. He paused for a second before adding, "Except for this." And from one of the pockets he produced a slip of paper. "It's in German," he explained, then translated it. "'A second case is here at the hospital, just like the first one. The patient is slow in every aspect. Come at once.' And it's signed with the initial S."

There was silence for a moment, then Jim said, "I suppose the patient the note refers to was me. But what's the significance?"

"The significance is in the salutation, which I did not yet read to you. This note," and he turned it so they could both see, "is addressed to _Herr _Vogel."

"Vogel!" said Jim.

And Colonel Richmond smiled. "The elusive Rumor Meister! This is the first physical evidence we've ever had that the man really exists!"

"How do you suppose that little fellow - Drossel, was it? - came to be carrying this note. He was a messenger?"

"Could be, Jim. But more likely than that," said Artie, "I believe _Herr _Drossel was Vogel himself."

"What makes you think that?" asked the colonel.

"A few reasons. First, in the confusion and busyness of this morning, I wasn't really paying close attention to him, but it later occurred to me that Drossel was wearing a disguise. When he ran, he didn't run like an old man. And he had powder in his beard. The scar on his cheek looked real enough, but what I really should have noticed right away was that, when he sat up after breaking Niecie's fall…" Artie leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially, "…his gray wig was slightly askew so that a black curl was peeking out at his temple. But in the pressure of dealing with Loveless' threat, those details didn't hit me until I found this note."

"Hmm," said Jim. "That was first; what's the rest?"

Artie grinned. "The names."

The colonel gave him an inquiring look. "Names. You mean Drossel?"

"_Fritzi _Drossel," Artie corrected. "There's a tale by Hoffmann in which two characters named Fritz and Drosselmeier occur, which started me wondering if it might be a made-up name. But beyond that - Vogel is the German word for 'bird.' "

"And Drossel?"

"Well, it has a few meanings: throttle, throat, even to choke. But the interesting part to me is that Drossel also means 'thrush.' And that's a type of bird."

The colonel nodded. "Hmm. So it seems we've met the king of rumors. Not that we can do much about it."

"No, not at the moment. He's always been careful to break no laws."

"But he is a spy. And all spies, at the very least, need to be watched."

"Yes, gentlemen," said the colonel. "And now we know what he looks like."

"Well, to a certain extent," said Artie. "We still haven't seen the man as he really looks. But now," and he laid aside the jacket, then turned to the chemistry apparatus he had set up on the table, "would you care to see the rest?"

"What is this?" asked the colonel.

"Are these the chemicals I brought back from Loveless' lab?"

"Yes, Jim, they certainly are. Now, Loveless did the same demonstration for me that he did for you, and then admitted that it was all bunkum. You see, I've identified each of the chemicals involved. And if you mix them all together - and, granted, I don't know the proportions he used, but it really doesn't matter - if you mix these particular chemicals, there is no possibility that the resulting concoction is going to be able to melt marble." He took up an eyedropper, used it to suction up some of the liquid he had mixed, then dribbled a bit of the fluid onto a sample of marble in a dish.

_Fwhoosh! _The liquid instantly sank into the marble, melting it. Within moments the entire block was crumbling, liquefying into a runny gray slurry. The three men jumped back, staring at the mess, then at each other.

"Ah…" said Artie. "That, uh… that shouldn't have happened..."

There was a knock on the door. Shaking his head at Artie's befuddlement, Jim went to answer it. As soon as he opened the door, something knee-high rocketed past him, squealing, "Mamma!"

Denise awoke as Missie pounced on her, happily covering her mother's face with kisses. "Oh, honey!" said Denise, overjoyed to have her little girl in her arms once more. "And Mrs Beecham! Thank you so much for bringing her to me!"

"Afternoon, Mrs Sparrow," said the gruff housekeeper, looking far less gruff than usual. "We were told at the house that we might find you here. And Missie insisted."

"I'll be ready to come home shortly. I was utterly exhausted, so Uncle Artie brought me here."

"Unca Oddie!" shrieked the toddler, and made to spring at him. He held his hands high and warded her off. "Not just yet, Peanut," he said. "Uncle Artie's hands are very dirty right now. Let me put these chemicals away and wash up first. All right?"

"Oh. Ok." Then the little girl turned around, hollered, "Unca Jim!" and threw her arms around Jim West's knees.

He picked her up and smiled at her. "So I'm still Uncle Jim?"

"Uh-huh!" she said happily and hugged his neck.

"Why, what's this?" said Artie in tones of mock anger when he returned from washing up a few minutes later. "James my boy, are you stealing my girl?"

"Of course!" said Jim as he relinquished Missie into his partner's arms. And as Artie sat down with the little girl, the pair cheerfully babbling nonsense back and forth between them, a soft voice said, "Mr West?"

He turned to Denise and said, "Please, it's Jim."

Shyly, she said, "I, uh, I want to thank you for rescuing Missie from that dreadful Dr Loveless. She's my life, you know."

He smiled. "It was my pleasure, Denise."

"And now she thinks of you as Uncle Jim. You've definitely made a big hit with her! But then, according to Uncle Artie, you certainly do have a way with the ladies." She glanced at Mrs Beecham, then said, "But we need to get home now. Missie! Come on, honey. It's time to go."

Missie protested, but her mother was firm. With kisses for her new uncles, the little girl said her good-byes. Niecie exchanged kisses on the cheek with Uncle Artie, hesitated, then gave James a kiss on his cheek as well. "I'll always be grateful," she said.

"Now, Niecie, you and Peanut are welcome to visit us any time, whenever we're in Washington," said Artie. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"I love you too, Uncle Artie," she replied fondly. She then shook hands with Colonel Richmond, and taking her little girl, she left the train along with Mrs Beecham.

"Well," said the colonel once the ladies were gone, "I must say, Artemus, you certainly have a lovely daughter." And with a sidelong glance at Jim, he took a sip of his drink and waited for the explosion.

"Daughter!" cried Artie. "Daughter? Who's been spreading that rumor? Did Dr Loveless tell you that? For the last time, Niecie is _not _my daughter; she's my niece!"

And Jim, of course, waited a beat before inevitably saying:

"Cousin."

**~~~ FIN ~~~**


End file.
